


True or False

by LadyGreyWrites



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Angst, Dark Romance, Dominance, F/M, Light BDSM, Older Man/Younger Woman, Rape/Non-con Elements, Roose Bolton and his sexy sexy voice, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2016-09-24
Packaged: 2018-07-25 00:04:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 26
Words: 83,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7503670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGreyWrites/pseuds/LadyGreyWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roose Bolton visits the Twins looking for a wife for his bastard, Ramsay. He returns home with more than he bargained for.</p><p>****************************************************<br/>This story features an OC named Meryll Frey. When I was looking over the family tree of House Frey, I noticed that it was mentioned that Merrett Frey fathered four daughters before having a son, but only three of the daughters were named. Two of the named daughters were familiar to me -- Fat Walda and Gatehouse Ami. And the son is also somewhat prominent in the book -- Little Walder, Ramsay's squire. So to me, this was a very interesting family, and I started to wonder about that fourth daughter ... and that's where Meryll came from! </p><p>Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Lord Walder Frey finally had the Great Hall to himself. With a family as large as his, peace and quiet was a hard thing to come by. He savoured these moments.

“Girlie, bring me another slice of bacon and egg pie!” he called. The two things Lord Frey liked best, pie and girlies.

A round-faced little serving girl raced in with a steaming plate of pie, eyes downward as she nervously placed the plate in front of Lord Walder.

“Very good, girlie, run along now,” he waved her off, enjoying the bouncing of her plump little rear as she dashed back to the kitchens.

Lord Walder was about to get back to his pie when Maester Harrin entered the hall.

“A raven from Lord Bolton, my lord,” Maester Harrin said, approaching Lord Walder’s table.

Lord Frey took a bite of pie. “Read it to me,” he mumbled, mouth full. Lord Frey watched impatiently as Maester Harrin’s old fingers worked at unrolling the tightly rolled parchment.

What would Lord Bolton be writing for, Lord Frey wondered, more news about Fat Walda?

A raven had arrived two moons ago with the news that Fat Walda, the Third Lady Bolton and one of Lord Frey’s grand-daughters, had died in childbirth. The baby had come too early and Fat Walda bled to death. Most of House Frey suspected it hadn’t been an accident considering the rumours that Bolton’s bastard, Ramsay, was responsible for the death of the last true-born Bolton son. Also, House Frey held a certain pride in their proven ability to progenate.

“He wants another wife!” exclaimed Maester Harrin, having finally unravelled the letter.

“Ha!” Lord Walder exclaimed, “At this rate, he’ll have more wives than me by the time he’s my age. But he must have been pleased with Fat Walda if he wants another one of my girlies. I don’t think I have any more fat ones though…”

“Not a wife for him,” Maester Harrin corrected, looking up, “He’s asking for a wife for his bastard Ramsay. Although, he was legitimized by King Tommen awhile back.”

Lord Frey’s eyes narrowed. Maester Harrin continued reading. “and… he doesn’t want to choose a wife ‘from a line-up resembling a slave auction in Myr’, as he describes here. He wants to meet each of them and talk to them.”

Lord Frey slammed his fork down on the table. “Talk to them! What good is that?”

Maester Harrin rolled the scroll back up. “He says that Ramsay has particular tastes and he wants to make the right match.”

Lord Frey grimaced. “I’ve heard of the bastard’s tastes. Well. Lord Bolton has amassed quite a force in the North – he has the backing of the Ryswells and the Dustins now. The Karstarks too, but who can say how long that will last. In any case, it’s best we stay on good terms with the Dreadfort. The Boltons are still our best chance for marrying into the family of the King in the North.” Lord Frey paused, considering.

“Send him an invite to Fair Walda’s wedding,” he decided, “Lord Bolton can meet all the girlies, eat with them, dance with them, _talk_ to them. Whatever he wants!”

Maester Harrin slipped the scroll into one of the many pockets in his maester robes. “Yes, my lord, I’ll send a raven right away.”

* * *

 

_Another goddamned Frey wedding. And to think he’d have to sit through at least one more after this if he chose a bride for Ramsay._

Roose Bolton glanced down at his list. Lord Frey had provided him with 17 names – all his eligible daughters and grand-daughters.

_…Della, Zia, Marissa, Sera and Sarra, White Walda, Red Walda, Little Walda and a few other Waldas…_

He skimmed past the rest of the names. He had met them all and not a single one would survive even a day with Ramsay. Little Walda was so thin she looked like a slight breeze would carry her off. Sera and Sarra shook in fear when he asked them if they were enjoying the wedding.

_And I’m not nearly as scary as Ramsay._

The band started up with another rousing tune. Roose had a headache.

He made his way through the mass of Freys, out of the Great Hall and wandered around until he found himself outside in the training yard.

_Thwack!_

The sound of an arrow hitting its mark was a little too close for comfort. Roose edged over to the side of the yard and squinted into the distance. It was past dusk and he could just make out the shape of an archer.

_Thwack!_

Another arrow hit its target. Glancing behind, he saw that the target had several arrows already embedded in its centre, each one in the bullseye circle. The archer was a good distance from the target.

”Nice shot!” He called out, wanting to make his presence known to the archer. “Practicing for a night hunt?”

“Nah, just avoiding the wedding,” came the response.

A girl’s voice.

Curious now, Roose approached, still keeping to the perimeter of the training yard.

“The food is to die for but once the banquet is over, I can’t wait to get out of there,” she continued, drawing another arrow. “But the best part?”

_Thwack!_

“The leftovers!” She raved, “We get to eat banquet leftovers all week long and the food is always better the second time around.”

She was waxing on about mashed potatoes as Roose studied her. Tall and sturdy, she was dressed in wedding finery appropriate for a young man, a brocade cassock in Frey colours over woolen hose and leather boots. Her slightly shaggy, dark hair was cut just below her shoulders, an odd length -- longer than most boys wore, but not long enough to be fashionable for a woman. Her clothes certainly weren’t fooling anyone though; she had a woman’s figure.

She noticed him eying her.

“I’m Meryll Frey, one of Lord Walder’s grands,” she said, leaning the bow against her hip and stretching out her hands.

That caught Roose’s attention. A Frey girl, and a maiden still, using her family name.

“Really,” he said, “I just met all 17 of Lord Walder’s eligible daughters and grand-daughters, and you were not one of them.”

Meryll grinned. “Oh no, I don’t count, I’m one of the grandsons.”

Roose raised an eyebrow.

“My mother had three girls before me and grandfather told her he’d beat her senseless if she had another girl, so when I was born, they wrapped me up before anyone saw, and introduced me to grandfather as his new grandson, Merrill. Merrill with an ‘i’, you see. I was brought up with the boys, learned to hunt and fight, and never had to stand in that ridiculous cattle line-up when bachelors came a-calling. I think everyone knew the truth but grandfather, but even _he_ figured it out when I was 13 or so,” she said, gesturing to her hips and shrugging.

The corner of Roose’s mouth twitched. “I would imagine so.”

“But by that time, “ she continued, “Everyone was so used to me being a boy that nothing really changed other than grandfather pinching my ass whenever I walked by.”

She studied him for a moment and leaned over to pick up a wine bottle from the ground next to her. “You don’t look nearly drunk enough to be at a Frey wedding,” she said, passing him the bottle, “This is the only thing that makes it bearable.”

He shook his head. “I don’t partake.”

“Well, no wonder you’re not having any fun!” she exclaimed. He didn’t respond. “So, are you avoiding the wedding too?” she prodded.

“I hate weddings,” he admitted.

She took a large mouthful from the bottle of wine and placed it back on the ground, picking her bow up and moving over to the next shooting target.

“Really,” she said, glancing back at him, “haven’t you had three of them now? Maybe you should take better care of your lady wives if you hate weddings so much.”

Roose’s face became still. The girl had been mildly interesting but was fast becoming an annoyance. “I see you already know who I am, then,” he said in a clipped voice.

Meryll lowered her bow. “Yes, I remember you from my sister Walda’s wedding. Gods keep her soul.”

“Gods keep her soul,” Roose repeated.

“Heard your bastard killed her,” Meryll spat.

“There’s no proof of that,“ Roose said calmly. “Women die in childbirth all the time.”

“Not _Frey_ women,” she retorted.

Roose was quiet for a moment before speaking again. “It’s fitting that you should mention my bastard,” he said softly. ”I’m here looking for a wife for him. He’d like you – you’d certainly be his match with a bow and arrow.”

Roose noted Merryl’s paling face with grim satisfaction before he turned to walk away. He turned his head to glance back at her.  “And Ramsay does love his hunting.”

Merryl took a deep breath and cocked another arrow.

_Thwack!_

Roose felt the air on his cheek as the arrow whizzed by and hit its target once again.

“Good thing I’m not one of Walder’s girlies!” she called after him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first attempt at fanfic! I'd love to hear your comments.


	2. Chapter 2

Merryl was still pulling straw from her hair when the serving girl placed the steaming bowl of oats and plate of pork rashers in front of her. Her stomach protested at the smell of food and she pushed the bowl away. Maybe passing out in the stables with a bottle of wine hadn’t been such a great idea.

“Rough night, Merr?” her uncle Danwell asked, not looking particularly sympathetic of her condition. Meryll lowered her head onto the table. Just a few more minutes of sleep, and maybe she could face breakfast.

But there was not a chance of that in the Frey great hall the morning after a wedding. The hall was noisy and crowded but Meryll had noted that she wasn’t the only one looking a little peaked.

Lord Walder stood from his seat at the head table and clapped his hands. “Time to line up, girlies!” he called, “our guest, Lord Bolton, is looking for a wife for his son, Ramsay.”

A buzz of conversation started around the room as the girls lined up. They all looked a bit pallid, and Meryll didn’t think it was entirely due to too much wine the night before. Stories of Ramsay’s exploits often travelled as far south as the Twins. There was the odd tale about Lord Bolton as well, but most of it was speculation and some of it seemed rather far-fetched. The stories of Ramsay, however, often came from reliable sources. It was said that Lord Bolton was cold and cunning, but Ramsay was mad and cruel -- a monster.

Meryll studied Lord Bolton as he paced in front of the girls. It had been too dark the night before to get a good look at him. He looked older than she remembered. A year had passed since Fat Walda’s wedding, but the year hadn’t been kind to him. War aged a man, she thought, and perhaps he still grieved the loss of his wife and unborn child. His close shorn hair was more grey than sandy brown now, the lines around his eyes and mouth deeper. But still as stoic and expressionless as ever. It saddened her to think of joyous and carefree Walda, living her last days in the home of such a grim man. Meryll had never seen the Dreadfort, but really, with a name like that, how pleasant could it possibly be?

Lord Bolton reached the end of the line of girls and turned to face the head table.

“Well? Have you chosen?” Lord Walder prompted impatiently.

“I have,” Lord Bolton said softly, and the hall quieted as the crowd strained to hear him. “Lady Meryll.”

Meryll felt her stomach churn violently again, but this time in terror. This was how she was going to meet her end. Hunted down by Bolton’s bastard and flayed alive, her skins worn as a cape or displayed in that secret room where they kept the skins of their enemies. Her eyes wide, she met Lord Bolton’s cool gaze.

“But not for my son, Ramsay,” he said, staring her down, “Lady Meryll will be _my_ bride.”

The hall went silent. Over 100 Freys in one room, but the clattering of forks and plates had ceased and no one said a word. Meryll figured half the room was staring at her and other half was staring at her grandfather. Lord Bolton was part of the group staring at her. She was suddenly very conscious of the fact that she was wearing the same clothes she had worn to the wedding the night before and that there was likely still straw in her hair.

Grandfather stood up, fork still in hand. “You can’t marry that one. Meryll is my grandson.”

One of the girls in the line-up, her sister, Marissa, Meryll suspected, started giggling and couldn’t stop. It was contagious and soon spread down the line. Meryll was feeling her own frantic emotions threatening to overflow and she wasn’t sure if it would come out as laughter or tears or both.

“She doesn’t look like a grand _son_ to me,” Lord Bolton said dryly. “So unless you can show me a cock hanging between her legs, I would say she’s as eligible as this lot,” he said gesturing to the line behind him.

Lord Frey tried a different approach. "Fair enough. But you don’t want that one for your wife. She’s more unruly than any of my boys, listens to no one, and has no womanly skills to speak of.”

There were quiet snickers in the hall. Meryll thought it somehow unsurprising that the day someone announced they wanted to marry her, the entire hall was stifling their laughter. She slumped down in her seat, hoping to disappear under the table.

Lord Bolton remained undeterred. “We don’t usually find discipline to be a problem at the Dreadfort.” He levelled his gaze on Meryll and she quickly looked away. Why in the names of the gods would he want to marry her, she wondered. Was this some sort of convoluted punishment for her rudeness the night before? Her mother always said Meryll’s mouth would catch up to her some day.

Meryll could see Lord Frey was eyeing his breakfast again and quickly losing interest in the conversation. “Bah!” he exclaimed. “What does it matter? Never thought that one would be good for anything other than hunting game anyway.” Lord Frey sat down. “We’re having another wedding! Does a fortnight from now suit you, Lord Bolton?”

“We’ll marry this evening.” Lord Bolton said with a tone of finality. The serving staff exchanged weary looks. “There is plenty of food left from last night, and all the guests are already here.” Lord Bolton paused. “Think of all the money you’ll save, Lord Frey.”

Meryll groaned. Lord Bolton was a shrewd man. The only thing her grandfather liked almost as much as girls and pie was a good bargain.

“Good, good!” Lord Frey said. “It’s settled then. Lord Bolton, come to my study later to discuss the matter of a dowry.”

 

* * *

 

 

“All these years you’ve called us cattle at an auction and here you are, getting married,” her oldest sister Amerei teased. Ami was the Lady of Darry now, married to a Lannister, but word was, her Lannister husband had turned pious. Ami travelled home to the Twins for cousin Fair Walda’s wedding, but Mother had stayed behind in Darry. After their father was murdered by a rebel gang, Mother had fallen ill and was not strong enough to travel. Meryll was thrilled to have Ami home, but missed her mother dearly.

Meryll sank lower in the tub. This was the first time she had been privy to a bride’s wedding preparations. Her sisters, Ami and Marissa, and two of her cousins, White Walda and Ryella, had crowded into her room, determined to make Meryll look as girlish as possible. Meryll’s hair had been freshly washed and her sister Marissa was behind her, attempting to pin her hair up into some sort of style appropriate for a bride. 

“Ughh,” Marissa complained, “why couldn’t you have grown your hair longer? I can’t do anything pretty with this!”

Meryll sighed. “I’m sorry Marissa, why don’t you go and ask Lord Bolton to delay the wedding until my hair grows longer?” Her sister gave her a nasty look.

“You’re so pretty when you look like a girl, Meryll!” her little cousin Ryella remarked.

Ami snorted. “Figures that the pretty Frey girl would be raised as a boy.”

Ryella was wistfully fingering the lace hem of the dress laying on Meryll’s bed. Worn by many of the Frey brides, the dress was cream silk with blue and silver embroidery. The lace-up back was adjustable enough that it had fit most of the brides, although Meryll thought a new dress must have been sewn for Fat Walda. There were all sorts of other garments laying with the dress: under-tunics, slips, frilly smallclothes. Meryll had no idea what order they all went on and was glad to have her kinswomen for help. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a dress, Meryll,” Ryella said, wide-eyed.

White Walda laughed. “Meryll’s never worn a dress, never sewn a dress, has no idea how to run a household or anything else that lords of great houses expect from their ladies.”

Ryella stood up, determined to defend her favourite cousin. “She can sing! Meryll has a beautiful voice,” she insisted.

“A beautiful voice,” White Walda scorned. “I’m sure that will be of great use at the Dreadfort.”

Ami reached into the tub and sent a spray of water toward White Walda’s face. “You’re just jealous he didn’t pick you,” Ami told a sputtering White Walda. “Besides, there’s only one womanly duty that Lord Bolton will be concerned with, and Meryll’s equipped just fine for that.” The girls laughed.

“Are you sure? There isn’t a little cock down there?” White Walda teased, reaching into the tub.

Exasperated, Meryll stood quickly, sending a wave of bath water to soak her sisters and cousins. The girls shrieked with laughter and Ami wrapped Meryll in a linen cloth, drying her off.

“I wonder if Lord Bolton will wear his leeches to bed,” Marissa said, looking thoughtful. Meryll cringed. Lord Bolton’s fondness for leeching was well-known. The events of the last day were such a blur that she hadn’t really given much thought to what her life would be like after the wedding. “But Fat Walda seemed happy enough,” Marissa assured Meryll. “She did, however, mention in her letters that Lord Bolton was a bit stiff in bed.”

Ami chuckled. “Well, I would hope so! Nothing more useless than a man who isn’t stiff in bed!”

“But really,” Ami continued, “it’s Lord Bolton’s deep, silky voice that excites me. That man could read me the keep’s ledger book and my smallclothes would be damp!” Marissa and White Walda howled in laughter as Meryll covered Ryella’s ears and gave Ami a pointed look.

Ryella pushed Meryll’s hands away. “Fat Walda was always happy if there were tarts!” she said.

Meryll sat on the bed, resigned. “Well, if nothing else,” she said, “the Dreadfort must have delicious tarts.” Her sisters and cousins collapsed in a fit of giggles, and Meryll had to smile despite herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Jennilynn411, whose comment on another Roose Bolton work provided inspiration for Ami's musings on Lord Bolton's voice.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The wedding. This is a long one! I just couldn't stop until I was done the whole wedding day.

Meryll clutched her grandfather’s arm tightly as he walked her down the aisle of the sept. It was a miracle more ladies didn’t break their ankles wearing these cumbersome skirts, she thought. Her boy cousins seemed to find the sight of her in a dress quite amusing. She gave Dickon and Mathis a menacing glare as she walked by and smiled to herself when their snickering stopped immediately.

Meryl looked up, hoping Lord Bolton hadn’t noticed her childish behaviour. No such luck. Lord Bolton was as watchful as ever. Over her 19 years, Meryll had weathered many types of looks from men. Amusement at her masculine clothes, or sometimes disgust; admiring glances as she showed her prowess with bow and sword; long, lingering looks that undressed her with their eyes; or dismissive looks because despite everything, she was still only a girl. Lord Bolton’s looks, however, she could not decipher. She found it quite bothersome.

Lord Bolton stood at the front of the sept, looking as cold and unyielding as ever. He was wearing his riding leathers, she noticed. She felt a sudden longing for her own soft leathers, so much more comfortable than her gown with its fitted bodice and full skirts.

Grandfather led her up the stairs at the dais and she took her place beside Lord Bolton.

Lord Bolton reached out and lifted her veil, his fingers gently brushing her cheek as he smoothed her veil back around her hair. His touch was so fleeting that she wondered if it had been an accident. His fingers had felt cool on her flushed cheeks.

She studied his face for some sign of approval or lack of. Expressionless, as always. She felt another surge of annoyance. She had endured an entire day of primping and fussing from her sisters and cousins, and he couldn’t show some sign of noticing she no longer looked like she slept in a barn?

Septon Tobas was saying the words of welcome when Lord Frey suddenly interrupted.

“I have to take a piss,” Lord Frey announced. There were twitters of amusement from the guests. Septon Tobas smiled apologetically as Lord Frey left the sept. “We can’t very well continue without Lord Frey, so please relax and talk amongst yourselves until he returns.” The septon descended the dais steps to chat with some of the guests, leaving Meryll to stand awkwardly with her soon-to-be lord husband. She felt oddly shy all of a sudden.

“Grandfather hasn’t made it through an entire wedding ceremony in years,” she remarked.

Lord Bolton was still watching her. What was he thinking, Meryll wondered. She didn’t know why not knowing bothered her so much.

“Are you displeased, my lord?” she asked. “I expect this is quite a change from when you last saw me.”

Lord Bolton tilted his head, giving her a measured look before responding.

“You’ll do.”

Increasingly annoyed, Meryll kept talking, aware that something about this man made her blither on rather recklessly. “Well, I considered wearing trousers, since that’s what I was wearing when you chose me to be your wife. I thought to myself, maybe Lord Bolton likes boys, but since he can’t very well marry a boy, he has to settle for a girl dressed as a boy and-” Meryll swiftly closed her mouth as Septon Tobas approached, her grandfather having returned to the sept.

Just before Septon Tobas took his place on the dias, Lord Bolton leaned in so close that she could feel his breath on her ear, surprisingly warm.

“I said, you’ll do. And I do _not_ like boys.”

Meryll felt a shiver down her spine at the sound of his smooth baritone voice so soft in her ear. She stifled a giggle, suddenly recalling Ami’s opinion of Lord Bolton’s voice.

The septon noticed and smiled kindly. “A little nervous excitement, I see. Best we get started.”

Septon Tobas turned to Lord Bolton. “You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection.”

Meryll stood very still as Lord Bolton moved behind her to remove her blue and grey cloak of House Frey. He handed the cloak to Lord Frey and accepted a charcoal grey cloak with the scarlet and pink flayed man sigil of House Bolton from one of his personal guardsmen. Lord Bolton placed the cloak around her shoulders, circling in front to face her again. His cool fingers grazed her neck and collarbone as he fastened the cloak. This time she was sure his touch wasn’t accidental. She took a deep breath to steady her nerves and she would have sworn she saw a little crinkle in the corner of Lord Bolton’s eyes. Amusement, perhaps? He did seem to enjoy toying with her.

“My lords, my ladies, we stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of man and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever,” the septon began.

Meryll was contemplating whether or not Lord Bolton even had a soul, or a heart for that matter, when she noticed he and the septon were looking at her expectantly. Meryll had a sudden sinking feeling that she should have asked her sisters to go over the wedding rituals with her beforehand. Unlike the rest of the Frey girls, she hadn’t been dreaming of her wedding day for her whole life. She had certainly attended enough weddings that she should know the words, however. She hoped her memory wouldn’t fail her.

“Your hand, my lady,” Lord Bolton prompted her, holding his hand out to her. Gratefully, she took his hand and watched as Septon Tobas tied a white ribbon around their wrists, symbolizing their binding together for life.

The septon spoke again. “Let it be known that Meryll of House Frey, and Roose, Lord of House Bolton and Warden of the North, are of one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder. In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity.”

The septon then untied the ribbon and let it fall to the ground. Meryll started to pull her hand away, but Lord Bolton’s grip tightened.

“Look upon each other and say the words,” Septon Tobas commanded.

Meryll lifted her eyes to Lord Bolton’s face. She didn’t have time to say a quick prayer that she would remember the words before they started, but she found that they came to her without prompting. “Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger,” Meryll said in unison with Lord Bolton.

“I am his and he is mine,” Meryll said, and frowned as she realized Lord Bolton had not said the phrase in its entirety, only saying, “She is mine.”

“From this day until the end of my days,” they finished together.

Lord Bolton took a step closer, reaching his arm around Meryll to place his hand on the small of her back so she couldn’t back away at his approach. “With this kiss, I pledge my loyalty,” he said, leaning down to kiss her. His gentle kiss was in stark contrast to his firm, unyielding hand on her back, claiming her as his.

He lifted his head from hers but held her close for a moment longer, staring at her. Again, she thought she saw a slight trace of amusement in his eyes. He then turned toward the guests, pulling Meryll with him. The hall was filled with cheers and applause. She was feeling a bit dazed and let him lead her down the aisle out of the sept toward the great hall.

 

* * *

 

 

Meryll picked at her food. The great hall was lively, the Freys showing no sign of fatigue on their second night of wedding celebrations. Lord Bolton hadn’t said a word to her, speaking mainly with her grandfather seated on his opposite side. Meryll sighed loudly.

She could almost feel the palpable weight of Lord Bolton’s gaze as his attention turned to her.

“You’re not eating, my lady,” he observed. “I thought this was your favourite part of a wedding. And to think I even went through the trouble of ensuring that your favourite foods – _wedding leftovers –_ were served at our banquet.”

Meryll pursed her lips, trying not to smile. “Oh, the things you wouldn’t do for your new lady wife.”

Lord Bolton’s mouth twitched in the way that Meryll was now recognizing as his version of a smile. “For true.”

“Is my new lady wife worried about something?” he asked.

Meryll was still feeling reckless. “Yes, I’m worried about _your_ favourite part of the wedding.”

Lord Bolton paused with a look of speculation. “And which part is that?”

Meryll was already cursing herself as the words spilled out of her mouth. “The part where you pull a dagger and start violating guest right.” Oh gods. What was wrong with her? Clearly, she was determined to be flayed alive before the bedding.

Lord Bolton’s expression didn’t change. “That’s not my favourite part, my lady.”

“The bedding, then?”

“No, my lady,” he said, “my favourite part is when it’s all over and we head back to the Dreadfort.”

Lord Bolton gestured to a serving girl walking past. “Wine for my lady wife,” he said.

Meryll looked at him curiously. “I thought you didn’t approve of drinking?”

“I said _I_ didn’t partake. You, my dear, look like you need a drink,” he said. She gratefully accepted the wine goblet from the serving girl.

Marissa stumbled up to the head table just then, a nearly empty wine goblet in her hand. “Meryll!” she gasped, laughing, “I wasn’t sure you’d survive the ceremony! You didn’t have a sniff of what was going on, did you?”

Meryll smiled, taking Lord Bolton’s hand. “Luckily I had my lord husband to help – he’s had a lot of experience with getting married.”

Marissa stopped laughing, glanced fearfully at Lord Bolton’s face, and gave Meryll a particularly admonishing glance before walking away. Lord Bolton removed his hand from Meryll’s, and leaned in close to put his arm around her shoulders. “I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume that it’s just your fear making you stupid,” he said softly, “but take heed, once we enter my lands, your disrespect will not be tolerated.”

Meryll knew she should feel chastised by his words, but she could already feel the effect of the wine. All she could think about was how to get Lord Bolton to keep speaking in her ear like that. Sweet nothings, death threats: what did it matter with that voice of his? She cursed Ami for ever mentioning the appeal of Lord Bolton’s voice.

“I’m sorry, my lord,” Meryll said sweetly, “I didn’t catch that. What did you say?” Lord Bolton narrowed his eyes and then turned the other way to speak to her grandfather.

Meryl sighed and polished off the rest of her wine. She was bored. No chance of sneaking out of her own wedding, she supposed. She could ask one of the men for a dance. _That_ might get a reaction out of her new husband. Of course, she didn’t really know how to dance. But how hard could it be? Then, Meryll had an even better idea.

Meryll laid her hand on Lord Bolton’s arm before her courage left her. “Lord Bolton, will you dance with your lady wife?”

His eyes flicked over her face briefly. “I’m sorry, my lady, I don’t dance.”

 _Of course he didn’t._ Meryll was starting to get seriously annoyed. She opened her mouth to make a comment she’d surely regret when Lord Frey suddenly stood up. “Meryll,” he said, seemingly sensing one of her famous outbursts, “come dance with your old lord grandfather.”

Meryll soon discovered that dancing with Lord Frey was mostly hanging on and dodging the wine that spilled from the goblet he insisted on clutching as he twirled her around the hall.  

“Now Meryll,” Lord Frey said, “this marriage is very advantageous for House Frey. It would please me greatly if you could stop antagonizing Lord Bolton long enough for him to put an heir in you.”

“This Ramsay will be a problem. He will be a threat to you as long as he lives. Normally, when I marry off my girls, I only send them off with the weapon between their legs, but you, Meryll, have other weapons. Take care of Ramsay before he takes care of you.”

“ _Grandfather,_ ” Meryll started but Lord Frey wasn’t done. “As Lord Bolton’s wife, you’ll also be privy to discussions of importance. You’re smart enough to understand what is of significance and what is not, and you will report back to me. You may be Lady Bolton now, but don’t you forget the blood that runs through your veins. _We stand together_.”

They spun around again, and this time she ended up facing the head table. Lord Bolton was watching, eyes thoughtful. Meryll shivered. “Yes, lord grandfather,” she murmured.

The song ended. Lord Frey pulled away from Meryll and held up a hand for silence. “It’s time for the bedding!” he announced. The guests cheered. Several of Meryll’s cousins moved toward her to carry her off to Lord Bolton’s guest chambers. The custom, Meryll knew, was that the unmarried men carried the bride and the unmarried women carried the groom, removing bits of clothing from the bride and groom along the way and ensuring that they reached their bedchambers in the most embarrassing way possible. She usually made a point of leaving the wedding long before the bedding ritual.

Meryll sighed at the sight of her cousins circling around her. These were boys that she had been beating in the training yard for years. “One step closer and I’ll kick your balls so hard they’ll end up in the back of your throat,” she threatened. The boys stopped their approach, knowing full well she was capable of carrying through on her threat.

Meryll looked back to see that the ladies were also a bit reluctant to approach her imposing husband. Lord Bolton smirked, and stalked over to Meryll’s side. He held out an arm.

“May I escort my lady wife to our bedchambers?”

Meryll felt her knees threaten to give out. “You may,” she answered, cursing her shaking voice and taking his arm. She was dimly aware of the entire crowd of wedding guests following as Lord Bolton led her through the keep to his chambers, but she was mostly painfully aware of her pounding heart. Surely Lord Bolton could hear it thumping away, she thought.

They reached his bedchamber and he opened the door for her, letting her pass before he followed, closing the door on the noisy guests. The music started up again; even the band had followed them to their bedchamber.

The guest bedchamber was large. On one side of the room, two large chairs were placed in front of the hearth. A large desk and chair for letter writing sat in the centre of the room, and on the far side of the room was the large feather bed. The servants had prepared the room for a wedding night – all the candles were lit, wine and goblets placed on the desk, and a white linen cloth thrown over the furs on the bed.

Meryll stood in the centre of the room, unsure of what to do. Lord Bolton seemed to sense her unease and took her hands in his.

“My lady,” he said, “you need not worry if you’re not a maiden – the guests just need to see blood on the sheet. There’s no way for them to know where it came from.”

She stared at him in disbelief. “I’m still a maiden!” she insisted, pulling her hands away from his. He took a step toward her. “I’m sorry, my lady,” he said, and she thought he _did_ sound a little bit sorry, “I just assumed, you were brought up with the boys, and that... something might have happened.”

Meryll shook her head, looking down. She _hated_ feeling foolish. She was so mad at herself for this awkwardness, and not knowing what to say or what to do. She couldn’t even come up with anything rude to say to Lord Bolton. “So...” she said, “what now?”

Lord Bolton made a noise that might have been the beginning of a laugh. “I imagine you’re familiar with the procedure, my lady?”

“Of course,” Meryll said, cheeks reddening. “I’ve helped with breeding the horses and I’ve seen the dogs go at it...” She dared to look up to her husband’s eyes.

His eyes danced with laughter. “Beasts,” he scoffed. He took another step closer and wrapped his arms around her, leaning in to kiss her forehead and inhale her scent. Meryll could feel the entire length of his body against hers and she took another step back. She felt the edge of the desk against her bottom and could retreat no further.

Lord Bolton closed the gap between them with another step and pushed her back against the desk. Meryll’s heart was beating so hard now she could feel it in her throat. She swallowed, trying to get rid of that choking feeling. Lord Bolton pulled back suddenly. “My lady, you’re trembling.”

Meryll realized he was right. Her whole body was shaking and the desk was the only thing holding her up. She struggled against her rising panic and the feeling that she needed to gasp for air. Meryll was furious with herself. Women slept with their husbands all the time, and they were fine. Some of them even enjoyed it! Why was she reacting like this?

Lord Bolton squeezed her shoulder. “My lady, perhaps another goblet of wine will help calm your nerves.” He reached toward the bottle behind her.

“No!” she blurted. “Let’s just get this over with!”

Lord Bolton abandoned the wine bottle and stood up straight. If there had been any sign of concern on his face, it was now gone. “Very well, if that is what you wish,” he said quietly. “Turn around and lift your skirts.”

Meryll felt ashamed at her outburst, but also strangely calm now that he was telling her what to do. She turned to face the desk, and reached down to pull up the mass of skirts that billowed around her. Gathering it all up in her arms, she waited silently.

Lord Bolton’s hands were on her back and shoulders, firmly bending her over the desk. He moved his hands to her hips, caressing them gently for a moment before pulling down her white ruffled smallclothes, leaving them bunched around her ankles. One hand slid over her hip again and she could hear him unlacing his leathers with the other.

Meryll shivered, not entirely from the cold. She felt exposed with her bottom bare and available to him, but she was also grateful he couldn’t see her face. It was easier this way, somehow. Both his hands grasped her hips, and then _it was happening._ She could feel him, _it_ , pushing between her legs. Meryll held her breath, determined not to cry out. A sudden sharp pain as he thrusted forward, and then he was inside her.

Lord Bolton exhaled heavily, but remained still for a moment. Meryll could feel her body stretching to accommodate him. It didn’t hurt anymore, but it was…  uncomfortable. He began moving again. Meryll didn’t find it particularly pleasant, but it wasn’t unbearable either. Some of his thrusts seemed to enter at a different angle, which felt… _interesting._ Other angles were more unpleasant.

Lord Bolton’s grip on her suddenly tightened, and his thrusts became faster, so Meryll knew it was almost over. She cursed herself again. This was exactly what she had asked for – to _get it over with_. With his last powerful thrust pushing the desk back and knocking the wine bottle to the ground, Lord Bolton uttered a low groan and pulled her hips tight to his body. His skin was hot against hers and she could hear him fight to gain control of his breathing. He held her there for a moment and then pulled away. As he pulled out, she felt a gush of warm liquid dripping down her thighs.

Lord Bolton stepped away from her briefly, but was then back, helping her up. He handed her the white linen from the bed. “Clean yourself with this,” he instructed her. “The proof of your bedding.”

She did as he told her, and looked down at the streak of blood on the linen, fascinated. _A woman bed, a woman wed._ Lord Bolton squeezed her hand before he gently tugged the linen out of her grasp and walked over to the door. She could still hear the music coming from the hallway.

Lord Bolton opened the door and tossed the linen out. Meryll listened to the raucous shouts and jeers with disgust. What a stupid, ridiculous and demeaning tradition, she thought as she angrily pulled her skirts down and kicked her smallclothes off. Another thing that was stupid and ridiculous. What were smallclothes for, anyway? With all those skirts, it wasn't like she needed anymore layers of clothing.

Her husband closed the door again and she heard the noise of the party move away from their chamber. The guests were heading back to the great hall, thankfully. Meryll walked over to the bed and flopped down on it in a satisfyingly unladylike manner, exhausted. She rolled to face the wall, hoping to avoid any more interaction with her new husband.

Meryll felt the bed dip as her husband sat on the edge. “Meryll,” he said softly, “we’ll be leaving quite early in the morning. I’ve received word that my bastard has taken Moat Cailin, and I’d like to get there as quickly as possible. From there, we’ll travel to the Dreadfort.”

“Your favourite part of the wedding,” Meryll murmured sleepily.

“I need to write a few letters to arrange for our arrival,” he continued. “Will it bother you if I leave the candles lit?”

There was no response. Meryll was already asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Meryll woke up to someone gently shaking her shoulder. “My lady, it’s time to get up.” Meryll rolled over to see Lily, one of her sister’s handmaidens, leaning over the bed. “Lord Bolton is already in the yard getting ready to leave and I don’t think you should keep him waiting,” Lily said.

Meryll peered at the window, covered with heavy hides, but she didn’t see any light peaking through the edges. She groaned. “The sun isn't even up yet.”

“It will be soon,” Lily said, pulling the furs off of Meryll. She seemed surprised at the sight of Meryll still in her wedding gown, but didn’t say anything.

The door opened, and a serving girl entered with a steaming tray. She set a plate of eggs and fry bread on the desk. Meryll felt a twinge of embarrassment at the thought of what happened on that desk the night before but the bread smelled delicious and Meryll hadn’t really eaten since Fair Walda’s wedding two nights before. She stood and made her way over to the desk with Lily chasing behind her, unlacing the wedding dress as she walked. Lily pulled the dress over Meryll’s head just before she sat down to eat.

“Lady Meryll,” Lily said, “your sister left you this letter last night, as well as some clothes for you to wear today. You can read while you eat.” Lily handed Meryll the letter. The letter was written in the secret code that she shared with her sisters. Marissa had devised the code the first time Ami had married so the sisters could still communicate freely in their letters. They had been using it so long now that Meryll was able to translate the words instantly.

_Dear Meryll,_

_You are a married woman now. I never thought I would see the day. I hope the bedding was not too difficult for you. If it was, I promise you, it will get easier. And of course, you can always write to your older, more experienced sister for advice if you need._

_I know you would have liked mother to be here for you, getting you ready to leave home as the new Lady Bolton. I hope you know Mother will be overjoyed when she finds out that you are married. I cannot wait to return back to Darry to tell her all about it. Mother always regretted her decision to bring you up as a boy, you know. She felt such guilt thinking that she had condemned you to a lonely life, a life where you did not really fit in anywhere. This will bring her such peace, knowing that you married, and in an actual wedding gown, no less!_

_It occurred to Marissa and I very late last night that Mother would have made sure you had proper clothing for a lady of the North. Of course, Lord Bolton hardly gave us time to have a wardrobe made, but we managed to find a dress of mother’s that she wore during the last winter. A winter at the Twins, of course, cannot compare to winter in the North, but this should be adequate until you reach the Dreadfort. Once you are there, Lord Bolton will make sure you are properly outfitted as the wife of the Warden of the North. And Meryll, take heed of that new title. Yes, you must wear a dress today! Lord Bolton will be taking you home to his lands and you must be dressed appropriately when he presents you to his people as the new Lady Bolton. Under no circumstances are you to wear your riding leathers! (I’m sorry, do I sound like Mother now?)_

_Meryll, I am so proud of you, my little sister, finally become a woman. And you were always little sister to me. I was there when you were born, and have never thought of you as a boy. Just a spirited, inquisitive little girl who happened to run around in trousers waving a sword._

_I am so sorry we will not be there when you leave in the morning, but honestly, it is truly a miracle we even made it up the stairs to Mother’s old room after all we had to drink, and surely I will pass out as soon as I put the quill down! I love you so much. Marissa sends hugs and kisses as well. Write soon and often._

_Ami_

Meryll put the letter down, eyes filling with tears. The realization that she was leaving her home was finally dawning on her. She was so used to being surrounded by family all the time, truly, _all the time_. It was nearly impossible to be alone at the Twins. She highly doubted that would be the case at the Dreadfort.

Lily had finished fixing Meryll’s hair while she was reading the letter and was now pulling her out of her chair. “My lady, we must get you dressed!” Lily helped Meryll dress in even more layers of clothing: a lambswool undertunic, woolen hose, and a double layer of smallclothes. She then pulled a deep blue boiled wool dress over Meryll’s head. The blue was a shade darker than Frey blue, and the dress was plain, which pleased Meryl, with only a bit of silver stitching along the hems and sleeves. Lily quickly laced up the back, and then handed Meryll a hooded fur cloak.

“Where is my Bolton wedding cloak?” Meryll asked.

Lily’s quick fingers did up the cloak fastenings as she answered. “I’m sorry, my lady, that cloak belonged to one of Lord Bolton’s personal guard. It was just borrowed for the wedding. I’m sure Lord Bolton will have one made for you once you reach his keep.”

Meryll heard the bedchamber door open behind her. She turned to see her lord husband standing in the doorway. “My lady,” he said, nodding his head slightly. He handed her a pair of boots. She took them and realized they were her well-worn, leather riding boots.

“Thank you, my lord!” Meryll exclaimed, sitting to pull them on. Lily knelt beside her, lacing the boots efficiently. “I will also need my bow and sword,” Meryll said, looking up.

“No, my lady, you will not,” was Lord Bolton’s stern reply. “Once we reach the Dreadfort, my smiths can make you new weapons, if needed.” Meryll was about to protest, but the idea of new weapons made just for her was appealing. She had always used hand-me-downs from her older cousins in the past. Boots laced, she stood, and accepted a pair of fur-lined leather gloves from Lily. As she pulled them on, she noticed Lord Bolton was giving her an odd look.

“My lord?” she asked.

“That colour suits you quite well, my lady.” His faint approval warmed Meryll to the tips of her toes. She took his arm and followed him down the hallway.

The keep was oddly quiet at this hour. They were greeted by guardsmen in a few places but ran into no one else. When they reached the yard, Meryll saw Lord Bolton’s two guardsmen, Walton and Dalran, waiting with three horses. The two guardsmen were already mounted, and the third horse was saddled and ready for its rider.

Meryll turned suspiciously to Lord Bolton. “And where is _your_ horse, my lord?”

Lord Bolton's mouth twitched. “That is my horse, Meryll,” he said, a slight tone of warning in his voice.

“I’m perfectly capable of riding my own horse,” she insisted. “I’ve been riding since I could walk!”

“Yes,” he said, taking her by the arm and moving her toward the steed, “and today you will ride with me.” He moved to help her into the saddle but she ignored his hand and mounted the horse herself. She quickly regretted her haste, realizing that mounting a horse in ridiculous layers of skirts and slips was more difficult than when wearing trousers, and she clumsily struggled to get her skirt-tangled leg over the saddle. Stubbornly, she persisted, and eventually succeeded. Lord Bolton had the grace not to mention it, and neatly pulled himself up into the saddle behind her. “Meryll,” he said, nudging her hands. “I will take the reins.”

Sighing, Meryll loosened her grip and allowed her husband to take the reins from her grasp. Meryll looked around her, daring any of the Frey guardsmen to comment on the exchange.

One of the men called for the gates to be opened. Lord Bolton spurred his horse through the gates, his men following close behind. As they were leaving, Meryll looked up to see cousin Alesander waving from the ramparts. She gave him a small smile, and waved back.

“We’ll ride hard today,” Lord Bolton told her, “and stop near Greywater Watch for fresh horses.” Meryll squirmed in the saddle. The relentless pace of the horse galloping beneath her made her suddenly aware that she was more than a little bit sore from the bedding the night before. “It shouldn’t be a problem for a seasoned rider like yourself, my lady?” he continued.

“No, my lord,” Meryll answered. It would be a long day. North of twins, it was mostly swampland. The scenery was bleak at best and the coming winter had turned the air damp and cold. She was grateful that Ami and Marissa had thought to scrounge up the winter clothing for her. Meryll tried to pay attention to the landscape around her for a while, but eventually found herself falling asleep. In her careful avoidance of getting too close to Lord Bolton, she had been sitting very straight in the saddle, so every time she started to nod off, she would slowly fall forward a bit and then suddenly jerk awake, sitting up again. The third time this happened, she felt Lord Bolton’s arm reach around her, pulling her back up.

“Perhaps if my lady wife would lean back against me, I wouldn’t have to worry about her falling asleep and slipping off the horse,” he said dryly. Meryll reluctantly leaned back between his arms. “I won’t bite,” he added.

“That’s not what I heard,” she mumbled, burrowing further into his warmth. Meryll could feel him shaking a bit behind her and as she drifted off again, she had a pleasant picture in her head of what Lord Bolton would look like if he was laughing.

When she woke later, it was dark. Lord Bolton had one arm around her waist and had tucked his cloak around her while she slept. She was feeling quite sore now, the jostling of the horse a constant reminder of the night before. She squirmed again in the saddle, trying to relieve the pressure on her delicate parts. Lord Bolton’s arm tightened around her. “Saddle sore, my lady?” he asked.

“I’m sore,” she conceded, “but not from the saddle.” Lord Bolton was quiet for a moment.

“We’re nearly at Greywater Watch.”

She could see he spoke true – the lights of the torches were visible in the distance. It was not long before they reached the settlements outside the keep. The watch recognized their Bolton banners and waved them through. They continued through the settlement to a small inn with attached stables.

Lord Bolton reined in his horse in front of the stables and jumped down, his men dismounting from their horses as well. Lord Bolton reached up to help Meryll down from the horse. This time, she accepted his assistance. He then instructed Walton to speak to the stable boy about exchanging for fresh horses. Legs tired, Meryll leaned a little bit against Lord Bolton. He looked down at her, surprised, and put an arm around her. “Dalran,” he said, “go and arrange for a room in the inn. We’ll rest here for the few hours left before dawn.” Walton and Dalran exchanged looks but followed their lord’s orders.

There was no one awake at the inn other than one man stirring the fire. Once he realized it was Lord Bolton and his new lady wife, he ran off to wake some of the servants. Meryll and Lord Bolton didn’t have to wait long before steaming bowls of stew were brought to the long wooden table where they sat. Dalran and Walton arrived soon after the food and ate hungrily. The stew was good – mushrooms and barley with beef – and Meryll was hungry despite the odd hour.

“There is much talk around the settlement about your taking of Moat Cailin, my lord,” Walton mentioned. “Your bastard doesn’t do anything quietly.”

“No, Ramsay has his own way of doing things,” Lord Bolton said, resigned. “Any word of Lord Reed’s leanings?”

Meryll knew that Lord Howland Reed of Greywater Watch had been fiercely loyal to Ned Stark, and couldn’t be happy about the Boltons overthrowing House Stark and taking Winterfell.

“He still hasn’t declared,” Walton answered. “Perhaps he is waiting to see who ends up on top before he chooses his loyalties.”

“Perhaps,” Lord Bolton agreed. He looked at Meryll, who had finished her stew and was beginning to wilt in exhaustion. Lord Bolton stood. “I’ll get Lady Bolton settled in her room and be back down to finish this discussion.”

Walton and Dalran exchanged knowing looks. “Take your time, my lord,” Dalran said.

Meryll let Lord Bolton lead her up the stairs, leaning heavily on him. It was true that she was a skilled rider, but she had only ever taken short rides to hunt or visit strongholds near the keep at the Twins. The full day of hard riding had taken its toll on her, not that she’d admit it.

Lord Bolton opened the door to their room and guided her inside. A fire was already burning in the hearth but the room was still cold compared to the warm rooms Meryll was used to at the Twins.

“We’ll need to leave again soon if we want to reach Moat Cailin before dark tomorrow,” Lord Bolton said. “Rest while you can.” He turned to leave when Meryll suddenly called him back.

“My lord, will you help me unlace my dress?” she asked. Meryll hated to ask him for help, but she was eager to get out of the constricting dress.

Lord Bolton stood still for a moment with his hand on the door handle before turning back to her. “Meryll,” he said, “The only reason we’re stopping is because my attentions last night have left you too sore to ride anymore. It would defeat the purpose for me to take you again now.”

Meryll was mortified that he thought she was asking him to bed her again. “Yes, of course, my lord,” she said. “But, I’m sorry, this is truly only the second time I’ve worn a dress, and I really do need your help with the laces.”

Lord Bolton made a sound in the back of his throat that might have been laughter. He stepped behind her to make quick work of the laces with his deft fingers. Once they were loose, he stepped back. “I trust you can handle the rest, my lady?”

“Yes, my lord.”

Lord Bolton turned again to leave.

“My lord?”

He glanced back over his shoulder.

“Thank you for stopping. I know you’re in a hurry to get to Moat Cailin.”

Lord Bolton gave her a slight nod before closing the door behind him.

* * *

Meryll woke up when she heard her lord husband moving around the room. She had tried sleeping on the bed but it was too far away from the fire. Meryll ended up piling the furs in a heap in front of the hearth and sleeping there, finally warm. She sat up to realize at some point in the night, Lord Bolton had wrapped his cloak around her. “Do you ever sleep?” she asked him when he noticed she was awake. There were stories about the Boltons being vampyrs, she knew.

“I slept, my lady,” he said, glancing at the bed. “Perhaps next time, you’ll leave me a few of the furs?” He picked up her dress off the floor and motioned for her to stand up. “Let’s get you back into this dress.”

He laced her into the dress and helped her with her boots and cloak before they left the room. Once outside the inn, Meryll even let him help her onto the horse. It didn’t go unnoticed by Lord Bolton. “Becoming accustomed to being treated like a lady?” he asked her as they rode out of the settlement with Walton and Dalran following behind.

“It has its benefits,” she said. He reached one arm around her and pulled her close against him. He leaned his head down to brush his cheek against hers.

“More than you are yet aware of,” he said softly, his face still close to hers. “Are you still feeling tender, my lady?”

Meryll became very still at the sound of his voice so close to her ear. She let out a small sigh of pleasure and answered, “No, my lord, I’m feeling much improved today.” Lord Bolton seemed pleased with her answer and continued nuzzling her cheek and neck. Meryll was feeling a bit breathless from the attention.

“You know, Meryll,” Lord Bolton said, his hand trailing down her belly and stroking her thigh, “I think you will enjoy yourself much more the next time I take you, especially if you aren’t in too much of a hurry to _get it over with_.”

Meryll closed her eyes in embarrassment, remembering her stupid outburst on their wedding night. She tried to push that memory out of her head so she could concentrate more on the way Lord Bolton was touching her right then. She sighed again as his mouth grazed over her ear.

Meryll wished he’d kiss her again. It had only been that little kiss at the wedding ceremony and she was eager to feel his lips on hers once again. She willed herself to be brave and turned her face slightly toward his. Her calculated move was successful and her lips brushed against his, but Lord Bolton seemed to draw back at the brief touch. He rested his chin on her head for a moment.

“You’ve had very little sleep these last few nights, my wife,” he said. “Why don’t you take this opportunity to rest?”

Feeling a bit rejected, Meryll sat up in the saddle. “I’m not tired, my lord.” She wondered if Lord Bolton would be different once he was home at the Dreadfort. She found his toying with her to be tiring – one moment she thought he truly cared for her and wanted her like a lord is supposed to want his lady, and then the next moment he was dismissive and unfeeling, pushing her away.

They rode in silence for a while longer, Meryll trying to imagine her new life at the Dreadfort. She couldn’t imagine herself as the lady of a great keep. “My lord,” she began, “will I have to wear dresses every day at the Dreadfort?”

Lord Bolton sighed. “Yes, I think that would be best.”

“But will I _ever_ get to wear my leathers again?”

Lord Bolton thought about that for a moment. “I suppose if we were to spend a day hunting, you could wear your leathers.”

Meryll turned her head back in surprise. “You’re going to let me hunt with you?” Forgiving him for dismissing her earlier, she leaned back against his chest again.

“From all I heard of your hunting prowess at the Twins, I think I would be remiss to not let you hunt for the Dreadfort,” Lord Bolton said.

“Tell me about the Dreadfort,” Meryll said.

Lord Bolton paused, seeming unsure of where to start. “What do you wish to know?”

“Is it true there’s a secret room where you keep the skins of your enemies?” Meryll asked.

“There are many so-called ‘secret rooms’ at the Dreadfort,” Lord Bolton said, “but I have yet to find one with skins in it.”

“But there still might be one, and you just don’t know about it?” Meryll persisted.

Lord Bolton was quiet behind her. “I tire of your questions, Meryll,” he said. Meryll was disappointed. There were so many things she didn’t _know_ about him and her new home. And wasn’t he curious about her too? That gave her an idea.

“My lord, my kin and I used to play a game at family feasts. You weren’t allowed to ask questions, but only make statements to another person to which they had to respond truthfully true or false. It was a challenge to come up with the perfect statement to find out what you wanted to know about a person, without leaving any ambiguities.”

“Hmm,” was Lord Bolton’s uninterested response. “I think we should play a different game.”

“What game is that, my lord?” Meryll loved games. Meryll loved _winning_ games.

“It’s called, how long can Meryll let Lord Bolton ride in peace and quiet?”

Meryll huffed. “My lord, I don’t think I’d be very good at that game.”

Lord Bolton reached up to graze his knuckles gently along her cheek. “I think that my lady wife is capable of being _very_ good at just about anything she puts her mind to.” It was a small compliment, but it warmed Meryll from the inside out. She supposed she could try and be quiet for a little while. 

Meryll was quiet for so long that she fell asleep. She awoke much later to the sound of Lord Bolton cursing under his breath. Meryll opened her eyes. It was almost dusk, and she could see the walls of a keep in the distance. It was a large keep with high walls, but she could see some of the towers were in ruins. Three towers still stood. She noticed odd shapes on pikes decorating the walls of the keep. She squinted, trying to make out more detail. A sick feeling came over her as she realized what she was looking at.

Lord Bolton spurred his steed on even faster. They approached the keep quickly now, and Meryll was able to confirm her suspicions. Each of the pikes on the wall held a man, flayed of his skin. She couldn’t count them all but estimated there were 50 or 60 flayed men. Meryll shuddered. 

When they were quite close to the keep, Meryll could hear shouts announcing Lord Bolton’s arrival, and the gates were opened to let them through. Lord Bolton didn't slow his steed as they passed through the gate, but reined the horse in abruptly once they were within.

Before dismounting, Lord Bolton leaned down to speak in Meryll’s ear. “I’m sorry you had to see that. But maybe it's for the best that you see what my bastard is capable of before you meet him – it will make you think twice about what you say.”

As Lord Bolton helped her off the horse, Meryll saw a young man in leathers approaching them. It seemed she was going to finally meet Lord Bolton’s bastard son.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I had fully intended for Meryll's time from Moat Cailin to the Dreadfort to be one chapter, but I just hit 6,000 words and I'm still not done, so I decided to split it into two chapters. The second part should be up later today.

Meryll stayed back with the horses as Lord Bolton strode forward to meet his bastard son. Meryll wanted to watch this family reunion from a distance. She knew her lord husband was very angry, despite his cool exterior. The last few days spent observing him had made her better at recognizing the cracks in his cold armour – those times when he fought to keep his emotions under complete control.

“Your letter said that the Ironborn surrendered to a man,” Lord Bolton said with a casual air.

“Yes, Father, I promised them safe passage and the fools believed me,” Ramsay said, looking pleased with himself.

From a physical standpoint, Meryll could hardly see how the bastard boy inspired fear across the North. He was of average height, round-faced, with a body that looked like it tended toward fat, although that probably wouldn’t happen until he was older. But the eyes… at first glance, they were his father’s eyes. But where Lord Bolton’s steel grey irises reflected cold pragmatism, Ramsay’s made him appear somewhat unhinged.

Ramsay seemed unaware of his father’s mounting displeasure.

“We cannot hold the North with terror alone,” Lord Bolton was saying. “Not all the houses have declared for us yet. We may have more battles to fight, and your actions have ensured that no army will _ever_ surrender to us again. Every battle will be a fight to the death. I’d hoped to take the North with as little bloodshed as possible. How many times do I have to say to you, a-“

“A peaceful land, a quiet people,” Ramsay finished. “Yes, yes, Father. That all sounds very… _boring_.”

Meryll could see that Lord Bolton was shaking with anger, and then she watched as he stilled, seemingly winning his battle to harness his emotions. “Sometimes I wonder if you are truly my seed,” he said. “My forebears were many things, but never fools.”

Meryll watched as a flash of rage passed through Ramsay’s eyes, and Meryll startled when those odd pale grey eyes met her own.

“Father, are you going to introduce me to this lovely creature?” Ramsay asked, suddenly courteous.

Lord Bolton turned and held his arm out to her. Meryll quickly joined him at his side. “Ramsay, this is my new wife, Meryll.”

The smile on Ramsay’s face froze as he looked at Meryll and then his father. “ _Your_ wife… but,” Ramsay sputtered before containing himself. Meryll noted that Ramsay’s struggle to bring his feelings under control mirrored his father’s, but in a less subtle, and more _crazy and completely mad_ way.

“It’s nice to meet you, _mother_ ,” he said politely. Meryll could feel Lord Bolton’s eyes on her, willing her not to say anything stupid that would antagonize his son.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Ramsay,” Meryll said, doing her best to smile.

Lord Bolton seemed to have come to a decision about something. “My lady,” he said, “I want Walton and Dalran to escort you back to the Dreadfort first thing tomorrow morning. You too, Ramsay. I will be staying here to clean up this _mess_ and return as soon as I can.”

Meryll spun to face her husband. “But, _my lord!_ ” A guardsman in Bolton colours was at her side immediately, pulling her gently away from Lord Bolton. “My lady, let me show you to your rooms.” Lord Bolton had already turned away and was giving orders to his men as the guardsman led her into the keep.

Meryll knew that Moat Cailin was one of the most important strongholds in the North in turbulent times, protecting the only safe passage through the swampland known as the Neck. For many years, there had been no reason to man the towers, but after the Ironborn took the keep, it had been nearly impossible to travel between the Twins and the North. With control of Moat Cailin and a renewed alliance with her grandfather, Lord Bolton had ensured that the North could not be attacked from the south. Not by land, anyway.

The keep at Moat Cailin now was in ruins from the many years of neglect. As Meryll followed the guardsman down a hallway of crumbling walls, she wondered if Lord Bolton would have the resources to restore the stronghold to its former glory.

The guardsman came to a halt in front of a doorway. Furs had been hung over the opening to create some sort of privacy. The guardsman held the furs to the side to allow Meryll entry.

Meryll entered the modest room and saw that someone had managed to get a fire started in the crumbling hearth, and more furs had been hung over a small window. There was a chair in one corner and furs piled on the floor in another, but that was all. Meryll shivered, pulling her cloak tighter around her shoulders. She had no idea how these Northerners survived. And it wasn’t even winter yet.

“Lord Bolton sent a raven asking us to prepare a room for your arrival, my lady,” the guardsman said. “This was the best we could do, I’m afraid.”

Meryll smiled kindly at the guard. “You did admirably,” she assured him.

He nodded his thanks. “There will be a guard posted outside your room at all times if you need anything, my lady.”

After the guardsman left, Meryll pulled the chair and furs as close to the fire as she dared. She was just getting settled into the chair when the guard outside poked his head in, announcing that Dalran had brought her supper.

“Send him in!” she said. The furs on the door were pulled aside and Dalran entered with a large bowl of soup.

“Something else to help keep you warm, my lady,” he said, smiling at the sight of Meryll in her chair buried in a mass of furs.

“Will my lord husband be joining me for supper?” Meryll asked, untangling an arm from the furs to reach for the bowl of soup.

“I’m sorry, my lady,” Dalran said. “Lord Bolton sends his regrets. He is meeting with his war council right now, and said you shouldn’t wait for him.”

Meryll nodded. “Dalran? Make sure my husband eats.”

Dalran smiled and bowed. “Of course, my lady,” he said, and left her to her supper.

The soup was watery and bland, but it was hot, and Meryll finished the entire bowl in no time at all. She decided the floor would be more comfortable for sleeping than the chair and rearranged all her furs on the floor.

Meryll was just drifting off to sleep when she heard someone enter her room. “My lord?” she said.

Lord Bolton walked to the fire and knelt beside her. “My lady. I was hoping you’d still be awake,” he said. “I thought you might need help unlacing your dress again.” He paused. “Unless it’s too cold to sleep in your shift? Would you like to keep the dress on?”

Meryll laughed, pushing away the many furs. “I’m not cold anymore, my lord.” She sat up, and turned so her back was toward him.

She thought he didn’t seem to be in as much of a hurry as he had been the night before when he undid her laces. He took his time, pulling each loop loose separately, and Meryll thought he touched her back and sides more than was absolutely necessary for unlacing the dress. She decided she didn’t mind.

Laces loosened, Lord Bolton pulled down the top of the dress to bare her shoulders. Meryll felt his hands running through her hair, kneading her scalp, and then gently rubbing the skin at the nape of her neck. His hands moved down her back, and then restlessly stroked her sides as he leaned in and buried his face in her hair, inhaling.

“Meryll,” he breathed, his mouth on her neck, and then her shoulders as he grazed his teeth lightly over her sensitive skin. Her heart raced as his hands continued to caress her sides and back. Meryll needed to feel his hands on her bare skin. He seemed to agree and started to tug her dress down further.

“Lord Bolton, I’m sorry to interrupt-“

It was Walton, standing by the door and looking slightly uncomfortable. Lord Bolton pulled Meryll’s dress back up but didn’t move from his place on the floor.

“Yes, Walton,” Lord Bolton said, his head turned to face his personal guardsman.

“An Ironborn was found in one of the hidden dungeons. It looks like he tried to kill himself. He’s still alive, but I’m not sure for how long,” Walton reported.

Lord Bolton let out a heavy sigh and rested his head against Meryll’s. “Thank you, Walton. I’ll be down shortly.” Walton nodded curtly and left.

Meryll pulled Lord Bolton’s arms around her and leaned back against him. “My lord, do I have to leave tomorrow? I don’t mind staying here with you.”

He hugged her tight in his arms. “I’m sorry Meryll, I have to get Ramsay out of here before the surrounding settlements revolt. And I fear the Dreadfort has been too long without a Lord or Lady Bolton within its walls. I cannot trust Ramsay to be in command at my keep. I need you, the Lady Bolton, to be there.”

Meryll stilled. “You want _me_ to take your place at the Dreadfort? My lord, I wouldn’t know what to do!”

“You would, my lady. And Walton and Jorran, the captain of my household guard, would be there to help you.”

Lord Bolton stood, pulling Meryll up with him. She turned around to face him and he cupped her face. “Believe me, my lady. There’s nothing I’d like more than to be leaving for the Dreadfort with you tomorrow. But you’ll only be there a few days without me.” He held her close and leaned in to press his lips against her forehead.

He pulled away to leave. As he pulled the furs aside to pass through the doorway, he turned back.

“Just a few days, my lady.”

* * *

 

Meryll woke up the next morning to see Walton entering her room. She grimaced. “Walton, I’m really beginning to dislike the sight of you entering my room.”

He smiled apologetically. “I’m very sorry for the interruption last night, my lady. And I’m sorry to wake you so early now.” Walton reached down and picked up Meryll’s dress from the chair by the fire. “Lord Bolton says I’m supposed to help you into your dress, and not get handsy with you.”

Meryll laughed. “Hopefully, that’s not too challenging for you,” she said, taking the dress from him and pulling it over her head. “I just need you to tie the laces, Walton.”

He tied her laces quickly and efficiently. “Everyone calls me Steelshanks, my lady. Steelshanks Walton. Well, everyone but Lord Bolton, that is.”

“Very well, Steelshanks Walton, I’ll keep that in mind.” Meryll said, smiling. She sat down on the chair to pull her boots on.

“Lord Bolton asked me to give this to you,” Steelshanks said, pulling a leather sheath with dagger from inside his cloak. “It’s a-“

“Boot sheath!” Meryll cried happily, taking it from his hands and leaning over to buckle the sheath inside her boot.

“Very well,” Steelshanks said. “I see you already know how it works.”

Meryll stood, pulled her cloak over her shoulders and picked up her gloves. “Where is Lord Bolton this morning?”

“I’m sorry, my lady, he left this morning for the settlements along the Fever River,” Steelshanks said. “He said you wouldn’t be happy when I told you that, and that afterward, I should let you know that you will be allowed to ride your own horse the rest of the way to the Dreadfort.”

* * *

 

It was three days of hard riding from Moat Cailin to the Dreadfort, Steelshanks had told Meryll. The joy of finally riding solo again was enough to see Meryll through the first long day of riding, but she was starting to tire and daydream of feather beds after the second day. They made camp that night, and Ramsay was cooking supper. He had shot four rabbits while riding earlier in the day. They had been skinned and were now roasting on a spit over the fire.

Meryll had been worried about travelling with Ramsay, but he had been polite and friendly on the road, asking about some of the Frey cousins that he used to know from their time as wards at the Dreadfort. She hoped his reasonable mood lasted the rest of the way to the keep. She _did_ notice, however, that Steelshanks and Dalran were never far from her side, and had shared the watch duties the night before, not allowing Meryll or Ramsay to take a turn.

Once the rabbit was done, the four of them ate and shared wine, and then Dalran took first watch while Meryll, Ramsay and Steelshanks settled in for the night. The ground was hard and cold, but Meryll was so exhausted from riding that she had no problem falling asleep.

Meryll woke later, unsure of what made her wake up. Looking at the sky, she thought dawn was likely nearing. And it was snowing. Meryll sat up and saw that both Dalran and Steelshanks were sleeping. She knew in her gut something was wrong. Rising, she crept over to Steelshanks side. He was still breathing, she noted with relief. She shook him gently, saying his name.

“He won’t wake up. Not for a while yet. Neither of them will.”

Meryll turned. Ramsay was awake, sitting up and leaning against his saddlebags, picking at his nails with a dagger.

“Why won’t they wake?” Meryll asked, a feeling of dread settling over her.

“You must have put something in their wine last night,” Ramsay drawled.

Meryll froze. “Why would I do that?”

“Because you’re going to run away,” Ramsay said matter-of-factly.

Meryll was still crouched on the ground beside Steelshanks. She reached to her boot for its dagger when Ramsay held up his own blade.

“Looking for this?” he asked. She could see it was the one Lord Bolton had left for her. “You’re a heavy sleeper, my lady,” Ramsay informed her.

“What do you want?” Meryll asked, wondering if he could be reasoned with.

Ramsay’s eyes gleamed. “Let me tell you what’s going to happen. You’re going to run away, and get as far away from here as possible, as fast as you can. I’m going to go to … “sleep” … since clearly, you put something in my wine as well, and wait until Steelshanks and Dalran wake up and realize you’ve run away. Then, I’m going to volunteer to find you.” He paused. “And my dear mother, you don’t want me to find you.”

Meryll was scared but didn’t want Ramsay to know. “You can’t _force_ me to run away.”

Ramsay sighed. “You’re right, I can’t. I could just kill you now and hide your body. And then come back, go to sleep, wait for Steelshanks and Dalran to wake up- oh wait, I already told you that part. One difference though. I won’t be able to hunt you down because you’ll already be dead.”

“Lord Bolton would never believe that I'd run away. He’d know that you killed me,” Meryll insisted.

Ramsay looked at her with pity. “He’d _suspect_ , but he wouldn’t _know._ Just like he _suspected_ that I killed his first son. And he _suspected_ that I killed his last wife.”

Meryll froze. “How did you kill her?”

“Did you know that there are herbs women can take to get rid of an unwanted babe? Well, the babe was _unwanted_. By me. And let me tell you, Fat Walda would eat anything if it was inside a pastry. But, apparently you’re not supposed to take those herbs so close to when the child is due,” Ramsay said, pouting in mock sadness. “My bad!”

Meryll lunged at him.

Ramsay was faster than he looked. He rolled to the side and came up in a crouch, dagger in hand. Meryll recovered quickly but he didn’t move to attack her.

“You’re a fighter, that’s good,” Ramsay said, looking unfazed. “Maybe you’ll be the one who gets away?”

Meryll ran. She ran into the trees, not caring which direction she went, wanting to get as far away from Ramsay as possible. She ran until she thought her heart would burst from her chest. That’s when she stopped to _think_.

Everything in her wanted to run back toward Moat Cailin, to Lord Bolton, but she knew she was only a day’s ride away from the Dreadfort. She wasn’t sure how much distance she had put between herself and the camp, but she did still know which direction the Dreadfort was.

Snow covered the ground and Meryll was painfully aware that she was leaving a trail behind her that a child could follow. She wished fiercely that she was back in the Riverlands, where she was familiar with the terrain and knew how to cover her tracks. These Northern lands were unforgiving and put her at a distinct disadvantage to Ramsay.

Meryll kept moving for most of the day, taking little time to rest. She didn’t know how long it would take for the effect of whatever Ramsay put in the wine to wear off. He would surely be on horseback when he came after her though, and she wanted to get as far away as possible this first day.

The forest was quiet; the only sounds she heard was the puffing of her own breath and the snow crunching beneath her boots. Meryll was hungry but didn’t dare forage for food. It was now nearly dark, and Meryll wondered if she should stop and find a place to rest. Her skirts were soaked from falling in the snow so many times but she was warm from the physical exertion of running. She knew she would become chilled quickly once she stopped, but decided she would be better to rest so she had some strength left when Ramsay inevitably caught up to her.

With the little light that was left in the sky, Meryll looked around for something that could be used as a weapon, finally settling on a large rock with sharp edges. She also found a place where the ground dipped away, creating a hollow that she thought might just be deep enough for her to lie down in. She quickly gathered dead leaves and snow around the hollow, and laid down, pulling the leaves to cover herself. The layer of leaves and snow provided a small amount of insulation from the cold. She laid awake for a long time, clutching her rock and straining to hear any sounds around her, but at some point during the night, she fell asleep.

Meryll jolted awake at the sound of a horse neighing. She froze, remembering the nightmarish events of the day before. She could hear the horse’s footfalls now, getting closer. Meryll did her best to breathe very shallowly but there was nothing she could do to quiet the pounding of her heart.

The horse slowed from a gallop to a slow trot as it approached. Meryll realized that her search for a weapon and hiding place had likely left the area trampled flat and it would be obvious that she had been there. A few more agonizing seconds passed as Meryll heard the horse circle the area around her shelter. Finally, the horse galloped away.

Meryll forced herself to lie still a moment longer until the horse was out of earshot. Once quiet, she jumped to her feet, leaves and snow flying around her. Clutching her rock, Meryll head out away from where the rider had gone, but still in the general direction of the Dreadfort.

Meryll’s pace was slower than the day before now that she knew Ramsay was nearby. Every little sound caused her to jump; every shadow in the trees became a little more menacing. Two more times that day she heard the sounds of the horse, never too close, and each time, she adjusted her course slightly to avoid the rider.

She didn’t dare sleep that second night, not that she’d be able to anyway. When it was too dark to continue, she found a tree that looked climbable. Meryll stood at the bottom of the tree, considering the rock in her hands. She wasn’t ready to give up her only weapon just yet. She tucked it into the hood of her cloak even though the heavy weight of it caused the cloak to pull uncomfortably at her neck, and made climbing awkward. She climbed as high as she could before the branches got too thin to hold her weight. And there she waited.

Meryll wasn’t sure how much time passed in the dark. All day, she had been convinced that every little sound she heard was Ramsay getting closer, and she was no longer certain of her own judgement. But now, once again, she thought she could hear the horse approaching. She listened awhile longer and knew that it wasn’t her imagination. Ramsay was near.

Meryll watched from above as Ramsay came into view. He reined his horse in right below her, and dismounted. Ramsay rounded the horse and rummaged in one of the saddlebags, pulling out an apple. And then he sat, leaning against the tree, _her tree_ , and took a noisy bite. He was near enough that Meryll could see the juices from the fruit run down his chin. She gripped the rock so tightly that her fingers ached.

Then he spoke. “There’s a little bird in the tree above me. I wonder if I should shoot it down?”

Meryll threw the rock down, aiming at his head. Ramsay stood fast as lightning and stepped to the side, and the rock thudded to the ground harmlessly where he had sat just an instant before. Ramsay dropped the apple, pulling his bow and notching an arrow in one smooth motion.

“ _Nasty_ little bird,” he scolded. “Climb down, Meryll. You know as well as I do that I can’t possibly miss.”

She gambled, deciding that Ramsay didn’t want her dead just yet, and stayed perched in the tree.

“Feeling shy?” he asked. “You know Meryll, I’m quite impressed. I’ve hunted little birds before, and none of them made it past the first day. I’m a little sad that my father decided to keep you for himself. But you see, that’s something I have in common with my father. When I _want_ something, I just take it.” Ramsay loosed the arrow and Meryll gasped when it hit the trunk of the tree with a loud thump, just inches away from her face.

“I’m going to smuggle you into the Dreadfort. It’s time I had a new toy,” he said, drawing another arrow. “Is my new toy going to play nicely?”

Meryll climbed down.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: this chapter contains graphic descriptions of physical and psychological torture and violence. If this will upset or offend you, please skip this chapter.

Meryll walked in the snow, Ramsay following behind on horseback. Her hands were tied, and Ramsay held the other end of the rope, occasionally yanking on it and laughing cruelly as she fell to her knees. Each time, she stood back up as gracefully as possible, head held high, and continued walking. She wasn't sure if her pride made Ramsay treat her worse or not, but it gave her a small amount of satisfaction.

Later that day, when he called to her to finally stop, she was soaked, cold, and aching. He dismounted, and yanked the rope again, causing her to fall. Ramsay knelt by her and bound her feet.

“One of my men will meet us here shortly,” he said, patting her on the head in mock assurance.

Meryll had to respect Ramsay’s cunning as she realized that all the events of the last couple days must have been carefully planned before they ever left Moat Cailin.

Just before dusk, a rider approached. He wore Bolton colours and bowed to Ramsay after dismounting. “My lord. I expected to meet you here two nights ago, she must have given you a satisfying hunt.” Ramsay’s man eyed Meryll speculatively.

“I’m not ready to share my toy, Damon,” Ramsay warned. “Did you bring everything I asked for? And has my father sent word?”

Damon reached into his cloak. “Yes, on both accounts, my lord.” He handed a Ramsay a small bottle. “Lord Bolton sent a raven yesterday saying he was on his way to the Dreadfort, posthaste.”

Ramsay pulled the cork from the bottle, sniffing the white liquid. “Very good. You’ll have this one safely hidden away before he arrives.” He walked over to Meryll and held the bottle to her lips. _Milk of the poppy._ “Drink up!”

Meryll shook her head, closing her lips tight. Ramsay smiled in his unhinged way. “She wants to do this the fun way, I see. Damon?” Ramsay swung a leg over her and straddled her chest. She squirmed furiously beneath him but her bindings were tight and it was no use. Tears of frustration came to her eyes as Ramsay pinched her nostrils between his finger and thumb and handed the bottle to Damon.

Meryll held her breath as long as she could, fully aware that it was futile. When she finally gasped for breath, Damon poured the entire bottle in her mouth. Meryll coughed and sputtered, choking on the viscous liquid. Ramsay kept hold of her nose but used his other hand to help Damon force her jaw closed. Meryll fought a bit longer before finally swallowing.

It was more milk of the poppy than she had ever taken at once. She knew that it was fatal in large doses. How much had she actually swallowed? She didn’t have long to worry, as the medicine took effect quickly. She fought to stay conscious as her vision grew dark but eventually gave in to the sweet nothingness.

* * *

 

Meryll woke later, every muscle in her body strained and aching. The stone floor was cold and rough beneath her. Meryll opened her eyes. She had been hog-tied; wrists and ankles bound and tied together painfully behind her back. She was lying on her side, dressed only in her shift. Her head throbbed and she felt the darkness closing in again. Closing her eyes, she let it take her.

* * *

 

A boot to the ribs had Meryll wide awake, groaning as she tried to roll away but was held back by the constricting ropes. _Ramsay._

“You’re awake, I see,” he said, pacing the floor in front of her. He leaned down with a dagger in hand and cut the rope connecting her bound wrists to her ankles. Meryll sighed with relief as she drew her knees to her chest, easing the pain in her back from being arched for so long.

Ramsay pulled a chair over to where she lie on the floor. He sat and leaned his elbows on his knees. “My apologies, my lady, for not visiting sooner. I just arrived at the Dreadfort this morning and had to report on my hunt for the missing Lady Bolton. A terrible shame that I never found you. Presumed dead, likely from the cold.”

Meryll struggled into an upright position. “You won’t be able to keep me hidden here, Lord Bolton’s own keep, once he returns.” she commented.

Ramsay looked thoughtful. “I find it very curious that you speak of my father like he’s going to be your _saviour_. My father, he’s not so different from me. He talks prettier with his foolish belief that ‘power tastes better with courtesy’ and his love of _discretion_ , but when it comes down to the heart of it, he gets just as much pleasure from hurting people as I do. _Like father, like son._ ”

“ _Bastard_ son,” Meryll corrected.

Ramsay backhanded her across the face. The impact stunned her for an instant before the pain set in, the entire side of her face on fire. Ramsay’s hand reversed direction and slammed into the other side of her face. It knocked her over, and with her hands bound, she wasn’t able to cushion her fall. Meryll’s head slammed painfully against the stone floor. Ramsay was now standing over her, his boot slamming into her stomach. Meryll curled up into a ball and his blows slammed into her ribs and back, over and over again until the pain was too much, and her mind shut down, bringing on a peaceful darkness.   

* * *

 

Meryll opened her eyes at the sound of the dungeon door opening. It was Ramsay again. He turned and closed the door behind him, and she heard the guard outside lock them in. Meryll’s body throbbed with pain. The sharp, shooting pain when she took a deep breath confirmed that her ribs were broken. She concentrated on breathing shallowly and staying very still.

Ramsay walked in slow circles around her. He held something in his hand. “Did my father tell you about my hounds?” he asked. Meryll didn’t respond. “ _Ramsay’s bitches_. I love my hounds. They don’t talk back to me.” He dropped the object in his hand in front of her. She saw that it was a thick collar, made mostly of metal.

“Do you like my new toy? I was inspired by the choke collars that I use on my hounds. This one, though, is a bit more lethal. I’ve been working on the design for quite a while now.” He leaned down and pressed some sort of mechanism on the collar, and Meryll watched in horror as metal cone spikes were released from the inner recesses of the collar, filling the space where she imagined her neck would soon be.

“It would be fun to see that happen when it was around your pretty neck, but it seems too quick to be truly enjoyable.” Ramsay picked up the collar and activated the mechanism again and the spikes retracted back inside. “I have been experimenting with ways to have the spikes gradually close in on you, a nice slow death, giving you lots of time to think about it. I’ve managed to get it working, but it’s still a bit unpredictable. You know, at this speed, I’m not even sure if the spikes will pierce your neck and cause you to bleed out, or just slowly crush your windpipe.” Ramsay grinned. “I can’t _wait_ to find out.”

Ramsay leaned down to fasten the heavy collar around her neck, locking it in place with a key. “I also don’t know how long it will take,” he said, popping the key in his mouth and swallowing. “But hopefully, I’ll need to shit before you die. Really, it’s win-win for me. Either I’ll get to watch you die slowly, or I’ll get to watch you dig through my chamber pot to find the key.”

Meryll swallowed the rising terror in her throat. The collar felt heavy, and she wasn’t sure if she was just imagining the feeling of increasing tightness around her throat or if the spikes had already started to protract. Ramsay knelt down and cut the bindings off of her wrists and ankles. “I have to take care of some of my lordly duties, my lady. I’ll be back later. Do try and hold off on the dying until I get back.”

Ramsay’s guardsman unlocked the door and let Ramsay out before locking Meryll back in.

Meryll sat on the floor, concentrating on staying calm. She knew the chances of her surviving another day with Ramsay were unlikely. She grieved a little at the thought that she would never solve the riddle of Lord Bolton or unearth all the secrets of the Dreadfort (although she suspected she was currently locked inside one of those secrets).

Meryll had never thought much about her future until the last several days as Lady Bolton. Maybe she had always had the same thoughts as Mother – that she would live out her days alone, never having a loving partner, or her own children to love and hold tight in her arms. Her time with Lord Bolton had allowed her the tiniest glimpse into that life she thought she’d never have.

And she grieved for Lord Bolton, who would lose another wife, and another chance at an heir who wasn’t completely mad. She would be abandoning him in death, leaving him only Ramsay to carry on the Bolton line.

Meryll felt the mechanism in the collar twitch, and a pinch as the metal closed in tighter around her neck. No, she wasn’t imagining it.

She thought again of Lord Bolton, and how _gentle_ he had been that night before she left Moat Cailin. Ramsay was wrong. He was nothing like his father. Anger strengthened Meryll’s resolve. If she was going to die, she would do whatever it took to take Ramsay with her.

Ramsay returned a short while later. He was carrying a plate of food. Ignoring Meryll, he set the food on the table and pulled his chair over before taking a seat. “Come here, Meryll, come kneel at my feet like a good little bitch.” Meryll started to stand.

“Crawl!” Ramsay ordered. She did as she was told. If she could just get close enough…

Meryll’s ribs protested with every move she made. Breathing shallowly was no longer a problem, as the collar was tight enough now that her breaths were thin and constricted.

Kneeling beside Ramsay’s chair, Meryll eyed the dagger in Ramsay’s boot while he ate. _Her_ dagger. He was wearing the dagger on the opposite boot from where she sat. Could she make it to his other side without him getting suspicious? She decided not.

She heard Ramsay finally place down his fork. He set his plate down in front of her on the floor; only the unwanted bits of his supper were left.

“Eat,” he ordered her. Meryll shook her head.

Ramsay slapped her. Meryll gasped for air and heard a horrible wheezing sound and realized it was the sound of her own struggle to take a breath. The blow to her face had caused the mechanism in the collar to move another notch.

“Eat!” he ordered. Meryll shook her head again.

This time, Ramsay kicked her. She was hoping he’d do that. Meryll grabbed on to Ramsay’s boot as it swung toward her and she threw all her weight forward. As they fell to the ground, she managed to grab the dagger from his boot sheath. Their two bodies slammed down on the stone floor and the impact on Meryll’s ribs almost caused her to drop the dagger. She held on tight and rolled away.

Ramsay was quickly back on his feet, sword drawn.

“My lord?” The guard’s voice came from outside the dungeon door.

“I’m _fine_ , Damon,” Ramsay hissed, circling slowly around Meryll. She was crouched back on her heels, turning with Ramsay to stay facing him. She was starting to feel dizzy from pain and the lack of air and knew she would have to act fast.

Meryll charged in low, aiming for his legs. She saw a flash of metal as Ramsay swung his sword at her. She crashed into his legs causing his swing to go wild but she still felt the blade bite into her hip. The pain was agonizing but what did it matter now? It would all be over soon enough.

The collar mechanism clicked again. Meryll felt the sharp points of the collar break her skin, and her gasps for breath became futile. The sound of her breath was a thin, high-pitched whistling.

Meryll grasped the dagger in both hands and thrust it downward into Ramsay’s stomach with all her strength. The blade stabbed through his leather armor and sank deep. She heard Ramsay’s sword fall from his hand. Again and again she thrust the blade into him; a warm spray of blood hitting her face.

Meryll couldn’t get enough air. She had the feeling she was forgetting something very important as a red haze crept in around the edge of her vision.

_The key._

Meryll looked at the red mess of Ramsay’s body in front of her, and plunged her hands in. Her fingers slid through the warm gore as she frantically searched. She heard the cell door open. Meryll looked up and at the same time, she felt her fingers graze past something hard. She grabbed on tight and pulled the key out.

Lord Bolton stood in the doorway, his sword bloody. He stared at the gruesome scene before him, and the sword fell out of his hand, clanging to the stone floor.

The key was slippery with blood and other fluids and Meryll dropped it twice, fumbling at the collar. Gaining his senses, Lord Bolton was quickly at her side, taking the key from her hand and unfastening the collar. He threw the vile object across the dungeon, and when it hit the ground, the mechanism activated fully, and the metal spikes fully protracted. Meryll gasped for a good breath.

The dungeon was suddenly full of guardsmen. Meryll could hear a thin, whining sound from beside her.

 _Ramsay._ Was he actually still alive after what she had done to him? Lord Bolton turned, and saw Ramsay’s fingers twitch. Meryll waited for someone to have mercy and slit Ramsay's throat.

Lord Bolton didn’t move.

The guardsmen stood still as well, watching Ramsay die.

Finally, Lord Bolton stood and lifted Meryll from the floor. “I’m taking Lady Bolton to my chambers,” he said. “Send for Maester Tybald immediately.”

Meryll’s body went limp. _She was safe._


	7. Chapter 7

Meryll only remembered fragments of the trek from the dungeon to Lord Bolton’s personal chambers: dim hallways, the cold biting wind when they stepped outside, more hallways, winding staircases, and Lord Bolton giving quiet orders to servants as they passed.

She was on her back, soft furs beneath her and the heat of the fire close by. She opened her eyes to see many faces hovering over her. Too many faces. She squeezed her eyes shut.

“Everyone out but Maester Tybald,” she heard her husband command. “Jorran, you may stay as well,” he added. The room suddenly became quieter.

Meryll opened her eyes again. She was lying on the floor in the space between a large chair with matching settee and massive stone hearth. A slight man with grey hair and gentle eyes was kneeling beside her peering down at her. Maester Tybald, she assumed.

The maester looked up at Lord Bolton, who was standing on her other side. “My lord, none of the injuries that I can see are grievous, but she needs time to heal. I will need to stitch that gash on her hip,” he reported. Maester Tybald paused for a moment. “And my lord, there may be… internal injuries,” he said delicately.

Lord Bolton crouched down. “Meryll,” he said, “did Ramsay or any of his men… lie with you?”

Meryll thought it was a rather inane turn of phrase to describe the brutality of what would have happened had Ramsay decided to rape her, but she shook her head.

“She will need milk of the poppy before I stitch that wound,” Maester Tybald said.

Meryll felt panic rising. “No!” Her voice was a harsh rattle, and she tried to clear her throat. It was painful to speak after the abuse from the collar. “I want to stay awake.”

“My lady,” Maester Tybald said, “You’ve suffered enough. But if you insist on staying awake, I can give you a smaller dose to just dull the senses.”

“No,” Meryll insisted, her voice breaking. She had spent so much of the last few days unconscious and bound by ropes and threats. The thought of not having control again was unbearable. The maester looked questioningly at his lord.

“Meryll, you will take the milk,” Lord Bolton said, a tone of warning creeping into his voice.

“Roose.” Jorran had approached from his place by the door. “Lady Bolton has spent the last few days in Ramsay’s control. Let her make her own decision about what happens to her body.”

“You would do well to remember your place, Jorran,” Lord Bolton said.

Jorran persisted. “She survived four days with Ramsay. She can handle a few stitches.”

Meryll liked this man. She wondered why he was permitted to speak so familiarly with her lord husband.

“Please, my lord,” she begged. Lord Bolton sighed and nodded at Maester Tybald.

“You are a foolish, stubborn woman,” Lord Bolton said, kneeling on the floor beside her. “And you will hold my hand.”

And she did hold his hand. She squeezed his hand so tight she feared she might crush it, the stitching was so painful. It was excruciating, but she grimly accepted the pain that was _hers_ , the pain that she _chose_. Sweat poured down her brow and she clenched her jaw to keep from crying out. Lord Bolton was silent.

After it was done, Maester Tybald gathered his things. Meryll’s eyelids were feeling heavy but she fought to stay awake. The maester noticed. “Lady Bolton, you must allow yourself to sleep. It’s the only way you will heal,” he said as he left.

Lord Bolton had found a cloth and was wiping the sweat from her brow. “The maester is right. You must sleep.” He stood up and walked away briefly. When he returned, he was carrying cushions and more furs.

“It will relieve some of the pressure on your ribs if I prop you up,” he explained. He slid his hands under her shoulders and lifted her gently to allow Jorran to arrange the cushions behind her. Meryll immediately felt the pain lessen once she was in somewhat of an upright position.

“My lord, will you stay while I sleep?” Meryll asked, suddenly afraid to be alone.

Lord Bolton crouched down to her level again. “Yes. I will be at my desk writing letters just across the room. And Jorran will be here too.”

Satisfied, Meryll closed her eyes.

When she woke later, Lord Bolton was sitting in the chair behind her, staring at the fire.

“Meryll, why did you run away?” He didn’t look at her as he spoke.

Meryll looked at him in surprise. “My lord, you cannot think that it was my choice to run away!”

“You wouldn’t be the first of my wives to run away,” Lord Bolton said, still not looking her. “Tell me what happened, then.”

Meryll had an oddly detached feeling as she recounted the events of the past few days. It was almost as if she was telling the story of some other person who went through these horrible things. Lord Bolton listened quietly. His face remained expressionless when she repeated what Ramsay had said about the deaths of Lord Bolton’s first son and Walda; motioning for Meryll to continue when she paused for his reaction. When Meryll reached the part where she first woke up in Ramsay’s dungeon, Lord Bolton asked her to stop, saying “You don’t need to relive those events.”

He was silent for a time, still staring into the flames of the hearth fire.

“How did you know where to find me?” Meryll asked.

Lord Bolton scowled. “Ramsay was a fool to think that I don’t know every passage in and out of this keep; every hidden dungeon; every secret that hides within these walls. He’s been using that particular dungeon as his ‘play room’ for years.”

“And you never stopped him.” Meryll said quietly.

“No.”

Lord Bolton still wouldn’t look at her. “But you did.”

He stood, pacing in front of the fire. “Jorran, summon Walton immediately,” he commanded his guard.

“Steelshanks and Dalran, they are alive?” Meryll asked. There was so much she still didn’t know about what happened while she was with Ramsay.

Lord Bolton’s voice softened. “Dalran is missing. When they realized you were gone, Walton rode straight to the Dreadfort to send a raven to me, and Dalran stayed with Ramsay to look for you. When Ramsay returned without you, he claimed Dalran was still looking.”

Meryll’s eyes filled with tears. “He’s dead, then.”

“Likely, yes.”

The door opened, letting in a cool draft from the hallway. “Steelshanks Walton, my lord,” Jorran announced.

Steelshanks rushed into the room and knelt at Meryll’s feet. “My lady,” he said with much relief in his voice, “it is so good to see you are well.”

Lord Bolton stiffened and moved to stand behind Meryll, his hands reaching down to rest on her shoulders.

“My wife has been hunted, beaten, humiliated, tortured, and gods know what else,” Lord Bolton said. His voice was even and he spoke in a measured fashion, but Meryll heard the quiet menace in his tone. “Look at her,” he commanded. “ _Look at her._ ” Steelshanks lifted his head to meet Meryll’s eyes, a tortured expression on his face. “Look at the bruises on her neck,” Lord Bolton continued. He reached down and flipped up the edge of Meryll’s furs. “Look at these stitches. I had to watch as my lady wife had her wound stitched without milk of the poppy because she could not bear to not have complete control of her mind, body and surroundings anymore.” Lord Bolton cradled Meryll’s swollen and battered face in his hands. “Look at her _face._ Tell me, Walton, does my wife look _well_ to you?”

Steelshanks bowed his head again. “No, my lord.” He crawled closer to Meryll and took her hand in both of his. “My lady, I have failed you. I have failed my lord. I accept gladly whatever punishment my lord decides that I deserve. I have no words to express my complete and utter shame that I have let this happen to you.”

“I would have you _hanged_ ,” Lord Bolton hissed, more emotion in his voice than Meryll had ever heard before. He returned to his chair and sat stiffly, shaking with anger.

“No, my lord,” Meryll said softly. “I am as much to blame as Steelshanks or Dalran. I shared cup and food with Ramsay that evening too. All three of us were caught unaware.”

Lord Bolton glared at her. “This is not your fault, Meryll. I trusted my men with your safety, with your _life._ It was Walton’s duty to protect you.”

“Am I not Lady Bolton?” Meryll asked, her voice stronger now. “Are your men not my men? I am as responsible for this man’s life as he is for mine.”

“And do you not play a part in all of this as well, my lord?” Meryll pushed further. “Who gave the orders that caused us to be travelling with Ramsay that evening?”

Meryll thought for an instant that her lord might strike her, such was the rage on his face. She watched him inhale heavily through his nose and fight for control of his emotions.

“Walton, you will receive twenty lashes in the yard tomorrow,” he said, his face an impenetrable mask once again.

“I will take the same, my lord,” Meryll said.

Lord Bolton rose from the chair, looming over her. “I will not _whip_ my wife, Meryll.” He glanced down at Steelshanks, still holding Meryll’s hand. “You are dismissed, Walton.”

“Yes, my lord.” Steelshanks stood and bowed to Lord Bolton and then to Meryll. “Thank you, my lady.” He hurried out of the room.

Lord Bolton sat back down in the chair. Meryll started to speak but a look from her husband silenced her. When he finally spoke, it was barely above a whisper. “I will always allow you to speak your mind when we are alone, Meryll, but don’t you ever, _ever_ again challenge my orders in public.” He gave her a look that made her feel very, very small. “And you _will_ be punished, Meryll. But I won’t be punishing you for the blame you seem to think you take in these past events. You will be punished for daring to challenge my authority in front of my man. I’ll even grant you your twenty lashes. But it won’t be with a whip. And it won’t be in the yard.” His voice softened slightly. “And it won’t be anytime soon. We’ll discuss this matter again when you are stronger.”

Meryll said nothing. She would have endured any punishment necessary to save Steelshank’s neck from the noose.

Lord Bolton moved to Meryll’s side and eased himself to the floor beside her. “My lady wife. My Lady Bolton. It is true that I rule with a firm hand. My men are more effective because I am not afraid to dole out punishment where punishment is due. And I also reward where reward is due.”

Lord Bolton reached down to stroke Meryll’s hand, one of the few places she wasn’t injured. “Ramsay was … useful to me. He took on many of the more … _unpleasant_ requirements of ruling for me. And because of that, I let him run free with his other … amusements. I had hoped that as he grew older, he would eventually find better ways to satisfy his urges. But this past year, he had become a liability to our cause. For the first time in my life, I found myself unable to do what needed to be done. Meryll, I have done many things that would chill your blood, but I could not kill my own son.”

Meryll thought about that for a moment. She wondered what would have happened if Lord Bolton had found her before she killed Ramsay. Would Ramsay still be alive? Locked in a dungeon? Or sent to a faraway holdfast to return to his vile amusements? The prospect was frightening.

Lord Bolton interrupted her disturbing line of thought. “Meryll, do you know what my house words are?”

“Our blades are sharp,” she dutifully replied. “And they are _our_ house words, my lord.”

The ghost of a smile fleetingly passed over Lord Bolton’s face. “Your blade was very sharp today, my lady wife,” he said, taking her hand in his. He looked away from her, and stared into the fire again. “When I went to your lord grandfather, I was looking for a wife for Ramsay. One that could _survive_ Ramsay. It seems I chose very well, both in my choice of bride, and my choice to keep her for myself.”

“I have chosen a reward for you,” he said, looking down at Meryll. “I will play your silly game. You may make three statements, and I will tell you if they are true or false.”

Meryll had conflicting emotions. She was beyond thrilled to be given the opportunity to peel back the veil cloaking her lord’s secrets. And she was annoyed with herself that she really couldn’t think of any other reward she’d rather have. And even more annoyed that Lord Bolton realized that. “You won’t lie?” she asked.

“I have never lied to you, and I never will. Choose carefully now. You may not like my responses.”

She knew he was right. She thought of Ramsay’s claim that the father wasn’t so different from the son, and shuddered a bit. Meryll pushed that thought aside.

“You already knew that Ramsay murdered your true-born son.”

“True.”

Meryll’s heart sank. Did she dare make her next statement? She must word it just right.

“You suspected that Ramsay was involved in my sister’s death.”

“False.”

Meryll breathed a sigh of relief. Now, what to choose for a third statement? Her thoughts inevitably returned to Ramsay’s other claims.

“You enjoy causing pain.”

“True.”

Meryll stared at him, and he stared back, stone-faced as usual. Meryll opened and closed her mouth, unable to think of anything to say. She was saved by a knock on the door.

Jorran opened the door to a small serving girl, carrying a pile of linens so high she could barely see over them. Behind her, more servants followed, each carrying a basin of water.

“My lord, my lady,” the girl curtsied after placing the linens down. “Maester Tybald thought the Lady Bolton might like to wash.”

Lord Bolton glanced at the basins. “I think my lady would prefer a proper bath,” he said.

“I’m sorry, my lord,” the girl said nervously. “The Maester said she must wait for that wound to close up before heading down to the baths.” The basins were set on the floor near the fire and the girl knelt beside Meryll and started to pull her furs off.

Lord Bolton stopped her. “ _I_ will bathe the Lady Bolton,” he said, picking up the linens.

The serving girl cast a worried glance at Meryll, and then her lord. “But my lord, I thought the Lady Bolton might prefer a woman’s touch after her ordeal.” The poor serving girl seemed to wither a bit at the look on Lord Bolton’s face.

“I'm not sure what would ever give you the idea that I could possibly care about your thoughts. Go,” he ordered her. The girl curtsied again and scurried out. Jorran stepped outside into the hall as well, closing the door behind him.

Lord Bolton looked down at Meryll thoughtfully. “I think if we arrange the cushions just right, I could wash your hair for you.” Meryll nodded gratefully. She knew her hair had dried in clumps, filthy with blood and worse. Her lord knelt down and pulled out some of the cushions until she was slightly more reclined, and then held her head up as he dragged over one of the basins.

Lord Bolton slowly lowered her until her hair and scalp were submerged in the steaming water. Meryll closed her eyes in bliss as he massaged soap into her hair and sighed with pleasure when he gently scratched her scalp with his fingertips. Once clean, he rinsed the soap from her head and dried her hair with one of the linen cloths.

Meryll watched her husband as he pulled away the basins of dirty water and dragged over another fresh basin. What an enigma he was. One minute telling her how she would be punished, and the next, acting like a perfectly devoted and doting husband.

Lord Bolton crouched by her again, helping her into a seated position, and moving the furs away. She lifted her arms so he could pull her soiled shift over her head. He inhaled sharply when he saw the bruises, scrapes and sores that marred her pale skin, but said nothing.

Meryll was surprised that she didn’t feel at all embarrassed in her nakedness. She felt… safe. And so incredibly cherished.

Lord Bolton was just finishing cleaning the mud and filth from her legs. Meryll cried out in pain when his hand passed a little too close to the inflamed skin around her stitches. He drew his hand back quickly. “I’m sorry my lady, I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He seemed sincere enough, but Meryll couldn’t help remembering that he admitted to taking pleasure at causing pain.

He rinsed out the linen and went to work on her upper body. His touch felt good; the water was soothing and the feeling of being clean again was therapeutic. When he passed the cloth over her breasts and nipples, her heart beat a little faster and she enjoyed the zings of pleasure that shot through her body, but she also appreciated that her lord was somewhat clinical about it, and she certainly wasn’t feeling amorous.

It wasn’t until Lord Bolton leaned over for another fresh basin of water that she worked up the courage to ask. “My lord,” she started, mouth dry. “You apologized for hurting me when you accidentally irritated my stitches. But I was wondering … did you enjoy it?”

He looked at her for a moment, but said nothing, wetting another clean cloth, and leaning to wash the dirt from her face. Her face was extremely tender, puffy with swelling, and sore to the touch. He had soaked the cloth with cool water instead of hot, and his touch was so gentle and soothing that she felt overwhelmed by emotion, tears coming to her eyes.

Lord Bolton sat back on his heels. “My lady, I am a sadist, it’s true. But seeing you like this, in so much pain, it brings me no joy.” He took another linen cloth and carefully dried her face. “There are only two situations where I take pleasure from hurting someone. When it is deserved, and when it is desired.”

He stood up then. “I’m going to the baths below to wash this day off of me,” he told her. “I’ll have Jorran come sit with you.” Meryll watched as her husband left, leaving so many questions in her mind unanswered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! It was simultaneously the most difficult, and the most enjoyable one for me to write so far. I seriously had tears in my eyes when I was writing the scene with Steelshanks. Did it get to you too?


	8. Chapter 8

Meryll lay awake on her pile of furs for quite some time the next morning, willing herself to move. She assumed it was morning, from the light peeking in around the skins in the window, but she couldn’t be sure. It was quiet and she was alone in the room, although there were fresh logs on the fire, so someone must have checked on her recently.

Meryll wondered if she could stand. Her body was one massive ache but the thought of lying on the floor all day was unappealing. She needed something to occupy her mind so she could stop reliving the events of the last few days over and over in her mind. Sleep was a welcome escape, but Meryll felt she had slept enough.

Meryll tried to ignore the sharp pain in her ribs and reached over to grasp the edge of the settee to pull herself to a standing position. Once up, a sudden wave of nausea made her realize that perhaps just making it up off the floor was enough of a journey for one day. She slowly sat on the settee, and waited for the nausea to pass.

Sitting up on the settee gave Meryll a much better view of the room than from what she could see from the floor. She knew she was in Lord Bolton’s private chambers, and this room appeared to be his study, its walls lined with row on row of bookshelves. It was a large room with high ceilings, with enough room for an ornate desk and chair as well as a smaller table for dining.

The door opened from the hallway, and Meryll pulled the furs up to cover herself. It was the servant girl from the night before.

“Lady Bolton,” the girl curtsied. “I am Anna and I am to be your handmaid. Are you hungry?”

“Famished,” Meryll responded. Anna went back to the door and said a few words to the guard outside. Meryll was disappointed to see that it wasn’t Jorran.

Anna returned and observed Meryll clutching the furs. “I will fetch you a nightshirt, my lady. The former Lady Bolton’s will be too large for you, but perhaps you wouldn’t mind wearing one of Lord Bolton’s?”

Meryll had just assumed Lord Bolton slept in his armour. She nodded her assent to the girl. “You still have my sister’s belongings here?” Meryll asked.

Anna looked up from the chest she was digging through. “Your sister, my lady?” Realization crossed her face. “Lady Walda was your sister.” Anna helped pull the nightshirt over Meryll’s head.

“My lady, I am so sorry for your loss. I was Lady Walda’s handmaid as well. I miss her terribly. She was very kind to all of the servants.”

Meryll looked at Anna curiously and gestured for her to sit. Anna sat on the edge of the settee but looked slightly uncomfortable.

“Anna, tell me. Was my sister happy here? Did Lord Bolton treat her well?” Meryll asked.

“He was not unkind to her, my lady,” Anna assured Meryll. “He ordered the kitchen to have tarts served every evening after supper because Lady Walda adored them so much. When she tried to thank him, he said ‘I’m not sure what would give you the foolish notion that I had anything to do with such a thing.’” Anna’s imitation of Lord Bolton was so spot on that Meryll couldn’t help but giggle. “He frightens me terrible,” Anna continued, “but Lady Walda, she wasn’t ever scared of him.”

Anna took Meryll’s hands in her own. “My lady, it is so good to see you smile, after all you’ve been through. There are many tales being told in the keep. Is it true that you killed Ramsay?”

Meryll looked away and gently pulled her hands out of Anna’s. “It is, but let us not speak of it.”

“Of course, my lady, it was rude of me to ask. I will check on your breakfast.”

Anna returned not too long after with a large tray full of every breakfast food Meryll could think of, plus a few she had never seen before.

“Um, the cook wasn’t sure what you’d like, my lady,” Anna explained, looking embarrassed.

Meryll happily dug in. “Anna, where are my husband’s bedchambers?”

“Just through that door there, my lady,” Anna said, pointing to a closed door on the far side of the room. There was also a staircase on that wall, leading down.

“Is that where I will sleep?” Meryll asked.

Anna looked thoughtful. “I would think so, my lady. That is where Lady Walda slept. After she passed, Lord Bolton started sleeping in there.”

Meryll was surprised. “They did not share a bed?”

“Oh yes,” Anna answered, “but only once or twice a month, during Lady Walda’s fertile time. Otherwise, Lord Bolton slept here in the study on the settee.” Anna saw the look on Meryll’s face. “It was a testament to Lord Bolton’s fondness for your sister, my lady. His last two wives slept in a different tower altogether.”

Meryll smiled. Her handmaid was a gossipy, talkative little thing, and that pleased her greatly.

“Where is my husband this morning?”

Anna paled. “He was in the yard giving Steelshanks his twenty lashes first thing this morning, and he has been in the dungeons questioning Ramsay’s men ever since.”

Meryll sat up straighter to ask more questions but winced at the pain shooting down her back.

Anna stood. “My lady, you really should be resting. Let’s move you into the bedchambers. Lord Bolton’s blood rises something terrible when he’s been down in the dungeons. He’ll need to come through here to go to the baths for his leeching and he’ll be very angry with me if you’re not resting.” Meryll was dying to ask more questions about Lord Bolton’s leeching but Anna had already run off.

Anna returned with the guard from outside and the two of them lifted Meryll and moved her into the bedchamber. The room was large but the feather bed took up almost the entire room, leaving only a bit of space to walk around its perimeter. There was no hearth in the room, and it was much cooler than the study.

Anna lit the candles and fixed the cushions and furs so Meryll was tucked in comfortably. “My lady, I’ll leave you here to rest. I need to tidy the other room and take your tray back to the kitchens.”

Meryll peered down at the massive bed, trying to imagine her sister and Lord Bolton together. She couldn’t picture it.

She was cold and pulled the furs tighter around her and eventually drifted off.

Meryll woke later to the sound of voices out in the study. Lord Bolton had returned and he sounded angry.

“Where is my wife?”

“My lord, wait-“

The bedchamber door swung open and Lord Bolton stormed in the door, Jorran and Anna close behind. He spun back to face Anna. “Who told you to move Lady Bolton?”

Meryll pushed herself higher on the cushions. “My lord, it is not Anna’s fault. I asked her to move me in here so I could rest in a proper bed.”

Lord Bolton looked at her with narrowed eyes and dismissed Anna. Anna gave Meryll a grateful look before running off. Meryll felt very much the prey under Lord Bolton’s predatory gaze as he stalked over to the side of the bed. As he was leaning over, Meryll saw his hands were bloodied and she shrank back from his touch.

Jorran was still at the door. “Roose, perhaps a visit to the baths?” he suggested. Lord Bolton said nothing but turned and left the room.

Jorran moved Meryll from the bedchamber back to the settee in front of the hearth. “More furs, my lady?” he said wryly as Meryll burrowed back into her pile.

Meryll ignored the comment. “Is my lord husband well?” she asked.

Jorran looked sympathetic. “He will be much calmer when he comes up from the baths.”

“Is he leeching?” Meryll asked.

Jorran paused, considering. “I’m not sure how much Roose will choose to share with you, but he has kept his rising blood under control for many years through leeching. The events of the past few days have wrought havoc on that control.”

Meryll peered at Jorran with narrowed eyes. “What makes _you_ so special that you are permitted to refer to Lord Bolton so familiarly?”

“We grew up together,” Jorran answered. “I still use his titles in formal situations, but I can’t think of him as anything other than ‘Roose’.” Jorran quirked an eyebrow at Meryll and grinned. “You’re his lady wife, I’m sure you’d be permitted to use his familiar name as well… _in private._ He might like it.” Jorran winked at Meryll before leaving.

Meryll couldn’t imagine calling her husband anything other than “my lord” or “Lord Bolton”. He was just so… _lordly_. Well, perhaps she could start with thinking of him by his familiar name as a first step.

Meryll had much to think on. Both Anna and Jorran had mentioned something about Lord Bolton’s blood rising. Meryll didn’t know what that meant, but it didn’t sound good. She was so deep in thought about the leeching, and the blood, and possibly thinking of her lord as “Roose”, that she hardly noticed when a servant came and went, leaving a tray with the midday meal.

Meryll was still sitting quietly when Lord Bolton came up the stairs. When she heard him, she turned to study her husband. It was the first time she had seen him without his armor. He was dressed in a linen tunic worn thin with wear and loose linen trousers. His feet were bare. He looked more vulnerable than Meryll had ever seen him look. She dared to think of him as _Roose._ And then she raised her gaze to his face – as expressionless and hard as ever. Still looking very much _Lord Bolton._

He sat beside Meryll on the settee, angled to face her. She could feel the heat from the baths radiating off of him, and his skin and hair were still damp.

“I see Lady Walda’s habit of lying to protect the servants runs in the family,” he observed.

Meryll sat up. “My lord-“

Lord Bolton interrupted her. “Don’t lie to me, Meryll. Don’t ever lie.” He then noticed the untouched plate of food. “You must eat.”

“My lord,” Meryll said, “It’s very hard for me to eat when I’ve been sitting here thinking about you flaying Ramsay’s men.”

“No one was flayed today, Meryll. And you don’t need to worry about Anna being flayed either.”

“She meant no harm, my lord,” Meryll insisted.

“I did not ask her to move you.”

Meryll sighed. “My lord, you know as well as I do that nothing would get done at the Dreadfort if everyone was waiting for your instructions. They need to make their own decisions.”

“Yes, as long as they are the _right_ decisions,” Lord Bolton said.

“There was no harm done,” Meryll insisted.

“Were you cold, Meryll?”

Meryll shifted uncomfortably. “No, my lord. I was fine.”

“Do _not_ lie to me,” Lord Bolton warned. “Were you cold?”

“I was freezing, my lord,” Meryll admitted.

“Meryll, I need you to heal. For that, you must stay warm, and you must eat,” he said, handing her the plate of food. Meryll had a moment to feel cherished by her lord as he paused before continuing, “It is imperative that you get well. My only heir is dead and you’re certainly in no shape to make me a new one.”

Meryll ate.

“You will find that operations run very smoothly at the Dreadfort,” Lord Bolton said, once he was satisfied that she was eating. “From my captain of the guard to the pot scrubber in the kitchen, I expect each of them to take pride in their role at the Dreadfort. Your handmaid’s job is to know what you need before even you realize it.”

Meryll looked up from her food. “My lord, Anna had only just met me.”

Lord Bolton shook his head. “The first thing Jorran did this morning was go to the steward and request that all the items in your wardrobe be double-lined with fleece or fur. That was after the short time he spent with you last night.”

Meryll cocked her head to the side. “Perhaps Jorran should be my handmaid instead of captain of the guard, my lord.”

Lord Bolton’s mouth twitched. “Eat, Meryll,” he said, quickly collecting himself. “I have work to do.”

“My lord,” Meryll called as he was leaving. “What did you do to Ramsay’s men?”

“I took their heads.”

* * *

 

Meryll saw very little of Lord Bolton over the next fortnight. He visited exactly once a day, dutifully, inquiring on how she was feeling, if she was eating and sleeping, and ignored all of her questions, excusing himself by saying he had work to do. Meryll thought she saw more of Maester Tybald that her own lord husband. Maester Tybald also visited once a day, and he was very pleased with her recovery.

Meryll wasn’t even sure where or if her husband was sleeping. One night, she had lay awake gathering her courage and finally hobbled over to the bedchamber door. When she opened the door, hands shaking, the room was empty and the furs were undisturbed.

Meryll was beginning to feel like a prisoner in Lord Bolton’s chambers. She had spent her time resting and eating and reading and resting some more and was anxious to start exploring the keep. When Anna brought her breakfast that morning, Meryll asked, “And where is Lord Bolton dining this morning?”

Anna answered warily. “He is eating in the great hall with his men.”

Meryll stood. “I will eat with my lord husband this morning.”

Anna looked nervous. “My lady, please. If Lord Bolton learns I allowed such a thing… you must rest, Lady Meryll!” Meryll was already on her way to the door, Anna calling after her. As Meryll passed through the doorway, Jorran took her arm.

“I will escort you to the great hall, Lady Bolton,” Jorran said. Once at the bottom of the stairs, Jorran led Meryll down a long corridor and pushed open the ornate wooden doors to the great hall.

“The Lady Bolton,” Jorran announced in a loud voice as he held the door to let Meryll pass. There were three long tables in the great hall, and every man in the hall stood when she entered. Spying her husband at one of the tables, Meryll headed in that direction.

Lord Bolton bowed slightly as she approached and pulled out the chair beside him. “My lady,” he said as she sat. Chairs scraped loudly on the stone floors as all the men sat again, resuming their eating and conversations.  

Meryll peeked at her husband’s face for signs of anger but his expression was unreadable.

Lord Bolton filled her bowl with porridge from a large pot in the middle of the table. The porridge and biscuits were simple fare compared to the trays of delicacies that the cook had been sending to her bedchambers, but Meryll thought being outside her rooms made the food taste all the sweeter.

Lord Bolton turned to the man beside him and continued the conversation that Meryll had clearly interrupted by entering the hall. Meryll ate and listened to her lord speak to his men and despite her annoyance at his disregard for her presence, she could see he was a good lord. He listened to his men, asking questions, giving praise where it was due, and correcting when necessary.

After finishing a conversation with his master of horse about a mare that was ready to foal, Lord Bolton stood abruptly.

“Excuse me, my lady,” he said, “I must work,” and left the hall. At his exit, the other men began to rise and head off to their own duties.

Meryll fumed.

She stormed out of the great hall and saw Jorran was waiting for her. “Jorran, where is my lord husband working? Clearly not in his study.”

Jorran considered her for a moment before answering. “He’s been spending his days in the council room, my lady. Shall I take you there?”

“Yes, Jorran.”

The council room was on the ground level, not far from the great hall. When they reached the closed door, Jorran stood aside and motioned to the door. “My lady.”

“You’re not coming in with me?” Meryll asked.

“No, my lady,” Jorran said, and Meryll thought he was working awfully hard not to smile. “Roose doesn’t like to be disturbed when he is working.”

Meryll opened the door, entered and closed the door behind her. Lord Bolton sat at his council meeting table, reading letters. He didn’t acknowledge her presence.

“Why are you not working in your study?” Meryll asked.

Lord Bolton continued reading the letter he was holding. When he finally reached the bottom of the page, he looked up. “I did not wish to disturb you.”

Meryll hadn’t moved further into the room from the door. Lord Bolton had his usual unreadable expression on his face, but Meryll sensed tension in the way that he sat, back stiff and straight. “You could never disturb me, my lord.”

“I would not be so sure about that, Meryll,” he said quietly, and watched her face pale. “But regardless. I truly have much to do. Ramsay’s death has left me in a precarious position. I worry that other houses plot against me, and I have been writing letters to build new alliances.”

“Yes, my lord,” Meryll said. “I do not wish to disturb you while you are working, but, my lord, I thought perhaps I would see you in the evenings. We are just newly wed and you are clearly avoiding me.“

Lord Bolton stood and stalked over to Meryll. She took a step back, running into the door behind her. Lord Bolton’s eyes had gone dark, his normally steely grey irises turning stormy. In one swift movement, he clasped both her wrists in one hand and pinned them over her head, stepping forward to press his body into hers, grinding the proof of his arousal against her. He leaned in and his voice was silky and dark in Meryll’s ear.

“Is this what you want? The things I want to do to you, Meryll,” he said softly. “They are not _nice_ or _gentle_ things. You should be grateful that I am avoiding you.” And then he released her wrists and returned to his desk. Meryll remained by the door, shaking.

“You may go now, Meryll,” he said dismissively.

Meryll placed her hand on the door handle, and then turned. “My lord, I think you will find that I’m made of sterner things than you seem to think.”

He didn’t look up from his letters.

Meryll left, closing the door softly. She ignored Jorran as he held his arm out for her, and made her own way back to her chambers.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of smut to warm you up for the upcoming extra smutty chapter..

Meryll was in a foul mood the next day. She had woken to discover that her moon blood had come. She had known she likely wouldn’t become pregnant after just one night with her husband, but she knew the promise of an heir would have eased Lord Bolton’s mind greatly. After Anna brought some cloths for Meryll’s smallclothes, Meryll went down to the great hall for breakfast to learn that Lord Bolton and Jorran had left for the day to hunt.

Meryll spent most of the day sulking. She wasn’t surprised that Lord Bolton hadn’t invited her along, but she wished he would have at least come to see her before he left. She hadn’t seen him since their encounter in the council room the morning prior. She had spent a lot of time thinking about that encounter, playing it over and over again in her mind, wondering if she should have reacted differently. While it was happening, she wasn’t sure what she was feeling. Thinking back, it was terribly exciting, but also terrifying.

It was almost dusk when she heard the shouts in the yard announcing Lord Bolton’s return. Meryll thought she’d go down to the yard and greet Lord Bolton, showing her husband what _proper_ lords and ladies did when leaving the keep for an entire day. By the time she made it down to the yard, her lord was nowhere to be seen. After speaking to one of the stable boys, she was directed to the skinning shed. As she approached the shed, Jorran came out and greeted her, and then stepped back in the shed to let Lord Bolton know she was there.

When Lord Bolton exited the skinning shed, Meryll couldn’t help but admire her lord husband despite spending all day being angry with him. He looked especially fierce in his black chainmail, leather jerkin and fur mantle. She felt his gaze pass over her and she fervently hoped that her lord was as pleased with her appearance as she was with his. He tilted his head to the side, considering. “My lady, I have a few things to finish here yet and then you will dine with me in our private chambers. Go and wait for me.”

Meryll’s pulse quickened as she realized that he would probably want to do more than dine in his chambers. And then she remembered her moon blood. Lord Bolton was already turning to go back into the skinning shed. “My lord,” she said.

He turned. “What is it, Meryll?” he asked, sounding impatient. Meryll was suddenly embarrassed. She didn’t want to say anything in front of Jorran.

Lord Bolton noticed her glancing uncomfortably at Jorran. “Meryll, you can speak freely in front of Jorran.”

Meryll blushed. “My lord, my moon blood came this morning.”

Lord Bolton’s expression didn’t change. “And?”

“I thought you should know,” Meryll stammered. Lord Bolton disappeared into the shed without responding.

Meryll turned and hurried back into the keep. On her way up the stairs in the east tower, she ran straight into a serving girl she didn’t recognize. “My lady, I’m sorry! What’s the hurry? Is there anything I can help you with?”

Meryll had just been wishing she could ask one of her sisters for advice, so she was relieved to have a woman to talk to. “Lord Bolton has just returned from hunting,” she told the girl. “He asked me to dine with him in his chambers this evening. I… I wish to please him.”

The girl smiled warmly. “Come, Lady Bolton, let’s find you something to wear.” The serving girl introduced herself as Myranda and followed Meryll up to Lord Bolton’s chambers. Together, they went through Meryll’s new wardrobe and Myranda pulled out a diaphanous silk chemise that Meryll had never dared to even try on.

“My lady, you must wear this. Lord Bolton won’t be able to resist you.” Myranda helped Meryll out of her dress and into the silk chemise, and gave her an encouraging wink before leaving.

Meryll paced nervously, changing the cloth in her smallclothes three times while waiting. She wondered if Lord Bolton would still want to lie with her? Maybe he even _liked_ the blood, she thought, shivering. It wasn’t just the disturbing thought that caused her to shiver. Her silk chemise was so thin and transparent that she may as well have been naked. Meryll stood in front of the hearth, trying to warm up.

The door opened then, and Lord Bolton entered, followed closely by Jorran. Meryll stilled where she stood by the hearth.

Lord Bolton glanced at her dismissively and announced he would take a bath before eating. He was heading towards the stairs down to the baths when he turned back. “And Meryll, what is that ridiculous thing you are wearing? You’ll catch your death in that. Jorran, find her one of my clean cloaks.”

Lord Bolton disappeared down the stairs and Meryll turned to Jorran wide-eyed. He was already pulling out a fur-lined cloak from Lord Bolton’s chest. Laughing, he threw it over Meryll’s shoulders. “I’ll let the kitchen know to send up Lord Bolton’s supper,” Jorran said, still grinning.

“Wait, Jorran!” Meryll cried. “Would Lord Bolton like it if I… assisted him in the baths?”

The smile left Jorran’s face. “No, my lady. I should have told you earlier. Roose is not to be disturbed when he is down in his private baths.”

After Jorran left, Meryll sat on the chair by the fire nervously and waited for Lord Bolton. A servant came in with an assortment of dishes as well as a packet of letters that had come by raven while Lord Bolton was away. Not long after, Lord Bolton came up the stairs.

He was dressed in his usual linens that he wore after his leeching. Meryll always thought he looked softer, somehow, after visiting the baths.

He walked over to the small dining table and Meryll followed behind. She realized then that there was only a single chair by the table. “My lord,” she said, “I will have a servant bring another chair.”

Lord Bolton shook his head and reached for a fur from the settee and placed it on the floor beside the dining table. “You will kneel here beside me, Meryll.” Meryll didn’t move. All she could think of was that Ramsay had ordered her to do the exact same thing. Lord Bolton was now seated in the chair. “Meryll,” he said, “I gave you a command.”

Tears filled Meryll’s eyes but she turned her head downward so her lord wouldn’t notice. Slowly, she lowered herself to her knees on the furs beside his chair. Meryll stared at her knees as she listened to her lord husband eat. She was so hungry and the food smelled wonderful.

Lord Bolton reached down and held a goblet to Meryll’s lips. “Drink, my lady,” he said softly. She took a few sips and then he took the goblet away. Next, he held out a small piece of meat to her. She used her teeth to delicately take the morsel from his fingers. _Venison_ , she realized. She didn’t really enjoy venison but she chewed and swallowed anyway. He continued feeding her little morsels of food; choice cuts from his plate.

“You don’t like venison, Meryll?” he asked.

“It’s fine, my lord, everything is wonderful.”

Lord Bolton waited silently.

Meryll shifted on her knees. “I’m sorry, my lord, it’s not my favourite.”

He reached down and gently stroked her hair. “Thank you for being honest with me, Meryll. And what is your favourite? Sweets? Lemon cakes?”

“No, my lord,” she said, “I don’t really like sweets. My favourite would be… oh, perhaps pheasant.”

Her lord seemed to find that amusing. He continued stroking her hair as he opened his letters from the day. Once he was done, he turned to her again. “How are you feeling, Meryll? Maester Tybald says he is very pleased with your recovery.”

“I am well, my lord,” Meryll answered truthfully. “I don’t move as smoothly as I used to, but there is no pain.”

“There is still the matter of your punishment to deal with,” Lord Bolton said, in the same even voice that he used to ask her if she liked lemon cakes a moment before. He stood from his chair. “Go and wait for me by my chair by the fire.” Meryll did as she was told.

Lord Bolton pulled a leather flogger from his desk drawer and took his seat by the fire. “Undress, and come lie on my lap.”

With shaking hands, Meryll slowly undid the fastenings of her cloak and let it fall to the ground. Her lord’s eyes darkened as she pulled the silk chemise over her head. Meryll hesitated then, her hands at the waist of her smallclothes.

“You may leave them on, Meryll. Come here.” Lord Bolton’s voice was even and calm. Meryll felt her fear ebb away listening to his voice. “Face down,” he said, helping her lay across his lap, her legs hanging over one arm of the chair, her head turned to the side and resting on the other. Meryll shivered as Lord Bolton traced a single finger down her spine until he reached the waist of her smallclothes.

“Your moon blood came this morning?” he asked.

“Yes, my lord.”

“Is the bleeding heavy?”

“No, my lord.”

Lord Bolton seemed satisfied with that, and eased down the waist of her smallclothes just enough to bare her bottom. “You do have a lovely ass, Meryll.”

Meryll blushed. “Um, thank you, my lord.”

He held the flogger so she could see it, the many thin leather strands dangling down from the black handle. “This is a flogger, Meryll,” he said. “Depending on how I use it, it can just tease and tickle you, or it can slice through your skin. You are being punished today, so it _will_ hurt - I won’t lie to you about that. But I won’t break the skin. You will be sore tomorrow but probably not any longer than that. Why am I punishing you, Meryll?”

He let the flogger’s leather strands trail over Meryll’s backside while he waited for her response. The combination of excitement, fear and pleasure was heady and Meryll forgot what he had asked her. “Mmm. My lord?”

“Why are you being punished?”

“For challenging you in front of your men, my lord,” she said.

Lord Bolton pushed the hair off of her face and stroked her cheek approvingly. “You have not challenged me again in public since that night, and I am pleased with that. Because of that, I will reduce your sentence to ten lashes instead of twenty.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Meryll murmured.

The first lash of the flogger made Meryll gasp for breath. She hadn’t expected it to hurt that much. She was still registering the pain when the flogger came down hard again, bringing tears to her eyes. She closed her mouth tight to keep from crying out as the third, fourth and fifth lashes came in quick succession.

Lord Bolton paused then, massaging her ass with his hand. “Meryll, I told you that I only enjoy causing pain in two situations. Which is this?”

Meryll was sobbing. “I deserve it, my lord. I disrespected you.”

“Five more,” he said. Meryll couldn’t keep from crying out during the last five lashes. Her entire backside felt like it was on fire. Lord Bolton carefully pulled her smallclothes back up and she cried out again as the fabric brushed against her burning and sensitive skin.

“On your feet, Meryll,” he said, helping her up. She stood in front of him, tears still running down her face, and suddenly feeling exposed, she crossed her arms over her breasts. “No, Meryll,” he said quietly, “don’t hide from me now.” He sat back down in the chair and reached out to pull her closer to him.

Meryll had conflicting emotions as she was both angry with this man for hurting her but also wanted his comfort more than anything else. She climbed up on the chair on her knees, straddling his lap and facing him, and buried her head in the bend between his neck and shoulder. She stayed up on her knees, not wanting to sit back on her burning backside.

Lord Bolton’s hands slid up and down her back in long, smooth strokes and he spoke softly in her ear. “You took your punishment bravely, Meryll.” He held her until her shaking and sobbing quieted and then he reached down to tip her chin up so he could see her face. “Meryll, what is the other situation that causing pain brings me pleasure?”

Meryll could feel her pulse quicken at his words. “W-when it is desired, my lord,” she whispered, voice unsteady.

Lord Bolton leaned forward and ran his tongue down Meryll’s neck. She shivered as the cold air hit the wet trail he left leading to her shoulders. He trailed his open mouth over her shoulder and collarbone, nibbling and licking his way down to her breasts. Meryll moaned softly as he took a nipple in his mouth and suckled gently, and then harder. He slid a hand up her body to cup her other breast, kneading and massaging it until her rosy nipple stood as erect as the one in his mouth. He kissed his away across to the breast he had been cupping, and took that nipple between his teeth and tugged gently until she was breathless with excitement. He had moved his hand to her breast not occupied by his mouth and rolled her nipple between his fingers. Suddenly he pinched hard and twisted. Meryll cried out in protest but his hand was quickly replaced by his mouth, gently licking and soothing the sore nipple. She sighed softly at the pleasure.

Lord Bolton’s other hand had been stroking her back and he was now tracing his fingers just along the waist of her smallclothes. He moved his mouth back and forth between her breasts, alternating flicking his tongue over her sensitive nipples with suckling and biting until Meryll was crying out with pleasure. He reached down with the hand on her back and squeezed her tender ass cheek. A high-pitched whine escaped from Meryll. He kept his mouth busy at her breasts and grabbed her by the waist with both hands and pulled her down roughly. Meryll cried out in pain when her throbbing and sore backside made contact with his lap, but his mouth was doing such wonderful things, sending strands of pleasure shooting through her body until she no longer could tell the difference between pain and pleasure. Meryll threw her head back, awash in the sensations. She felt like it wasn’t enough and grinded her hips against him, trying to feel _more_ somehow.

Lord Bolton slowed his touches, and traced kisses back up Meryll’s neck and over her face. His hands held her still, not letting her rub her body against his. He pulled her head back into the crook of his neck, stroking her hair and neck, until her breath started to slow and her heart didn’t pound quite so loud.

“Meryll, you did very well tonight,” he said, ceasing his stroking and holding her tight. Meryll felt a sense of bliss come over her at the approval of her lord. They stayed like that for a while longer, not speaking.

“Did Jorran explain to you why I go down to the baths?” he asked, breaking the quiet.

“The leeches?” she asked, lifting her head from his shoulder.

“Yes. Meryll, you’ve probably heard many tales about me. None of them are exactly true, but most tales start with a small kernel of truth. There is bad blood that runs through the veins of the Bolton men. It brings on certain… urges. Dark urges. When those urges come on, we say ‘the blood is rising’.” He paused to push a strand of hair out of Meryll’s eyes. “There are many things that can cause the blood to rise. Violence, lust, or other strong emotions. A hunt can also bring on the blood. So when I came into this room fresh from the hunt and you were wearing that slip of silk…”

Meryll shuddered, feeling once again like prey in the predators grasp.

“I meant what I said to you yesterday, Meryll,” Lord Bolton continued. “There are things I’d like to do to you…” his voice trailed off. He pulled her head back down to his shoulder and stroked her hair. “A reward for you. Three true or false statements.”

 Meryll thought hard. She wished she had more time to prepare. She thought of what Lord Bolton had said about tales usually having a kernel of truth.

“You have a cloak made from human skins,” she said.

“False.”

“You are a vampyr and drink blood and never sleep.”

Lord Bolton scoffed. “False.”

Meryll was quiet for a time.

“Ramsay was conceived when you hanged the miller and raped his wife under his swaying body.”

She felt Lord Bolton go very still beneath her.

“True.”

He continued stroking her hair for a while longer and then gently pushed her off of him. “Off to bed with you,” he said, guiding her toward the settee. He stood.

“I’m feeling the need for another leeching.”   


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok, i get that yuletide is totally non-canon, but i just can't resist some nice christmas scenes with the grinch

Meryll didn’t want to sleep on the settee anymore. She was the Lady of the Dreadfort and it was insulting to not have a proper bedchamber to sleep in. And, she was so overheated from her lord’s attentions that she thought the cool air of the bedchamber might be nice. Once she was sure Lord Bolton was down the stairs and in the baths, she picked up his cloak off the floor, wrapped it around herself, and crawled into the lovely feather bed to sleep.

Meryll was tired but she wondered if Lord Bolton would be angry to find her in the bed. Angry enough to punish her? She wasn’t in a big hurry to experience another flogging from Lord Bolton. But the _desired_ pain, well, that had been interesting. Meryll still felt the ache of longing in her loins and was eager for her moon blood to be done with.

When she heard Lord Bolton coming back up the stairs from his leeching, Meryll rolled on her side and closed her eyes, feigning sleep. She listened and kept very still as he came to the door and stopped. He must have stood there for some time, as there were no more sounds of movement, and then finally he walked away. She felt a pang of disappointment that he hadn’t joined her in the massive bed.

In the morning, Meryll woke up to find a piece of parchment lying on top of the furs on the bed, with a small clay jar holding the parchment in place. The jar had a strong fragrance and when Meryll took a closer look, she thought it looked like an ointment of some sort. She sniffed the jar and smelled lavender, peppermint and other herbs in the mixture. She picked up the parchment and saw that it was a note from Lord Bolton.

_My lady wife,_

_I have left you a jar of the ointment that Maester Tybald gives the men after a whipping. It should provide some relief and also speed the healing. I hope you will get a chance to find a looking glass this morning. I think your backside should still be a lovely shade of pink. I, myself, would like to inspect the fruits of my labour later today._

_R_

“Anna,” she called out into the study where she could hear her little maid setting out her clothing for the day. “Bring me a looking glass.” Meryll slid out of the bed, still naked from the night before, and had her back to the door when Anna entered. Anna’s gasp gave her the confirmation she wanted.

“Hold the looking glass for me, so I can see my husband’s marks,” Meryll ordered Anna. Anna dutifully held the looking glass so that when Meryll looked back over her shoulder, she could see the reflection of her bottom in the mirror. Lord Bolton was right, it _was_ a lovely shade of pink. She could see the faint outline of raised welts as well, but they looked worse than they felt.

“My lady, I will run and get some ointment from Maester-“

Meryll wordlessly handed Anna the jar.

Meryll couldn’t help but smile as she listened to Anna’s muttered curses as she smoothed the ointment over her lady’s irritated skin. “Not so loud, Anna, you wouldn’t want Lord Bolton to hear you,” Meryll warned in a light tone. The ointment was immediately soothing, the peppermint providing a blessed cooling effect to her skin.

Meryll followed Anna out into the study, where Anna had laid out a wool dress in a shade of plum so dark it was nearly black, as well as all the necessary undergarments. After Anna helped her dress, Meryll made her way down the tower stairs to the Great Hall.

When she walked through the Great Hall doors, Meryll could already feel the weight of Lord Bolton’s gaze on her. She caught his eyes with her own and enjoyed the possessive look in his eyes as she walked toward him. When he pulled out her chair for her, she looked down to see that the padded chair that she normally sat on had been replaced by a simpler chair with a wooden seat. She arched an eyebrow at her husband but sat without commenting on it. She ignored the twinge of pain that she felt when her sensitive bottom touched the hard wooden seat but did her best to keep her face expressionless, as she knew her husband was watching her carefully for even the smallest reaction. He sat down and leaned closer after she was settled. “Are you well this morning, my lady?” he asked silkily. Meryll smiled, appreciating that her husband’s voice was in good form this morning.

“I’m _quite_ well, Lord Bolton,” she said, schooling a pleasant smile on her face. She listened quietly as Lord Bolton spoke with Galwin, the keep steward, about an upcoming feast. Conversation done, Lord Bolton rose to leave. Meryll stood as well, and as she stood, she noticed several servants carrying in a large tree. “My lord?” she asked.

“It’s for the yuletide celebration, Meryll,” Lord Bolton said. “I had forgotten that you would have been too young to remember the beginning of the last winter. The servants are decorating the hall today, and we’ll have the yule feast three days from now.”

Lord Bolton stepped closer to Meryll and discretely patted her backside, earning himself a stifled shriek as Meryll moved to get away from him. The crease in his cheek suggested his amusement. “I will be working in my council room this morning, but I’ll be in my study after midday for your inspection.” Meryll watched him walk away and wondered if he noticed the curious looks the servants were giving him.

Meryll made her way up the stairs to the rooms below the rookery where Maester Tybald spent his days. Answering her knock on the door, Maester Tybald looked genuinely pleased to see her.

“Lady Bolton, you are looking very well this morning. Lots of colour on your cheeks – it speaks to your good health,” he said. Meryll swallowed a laugh. If he only knew about the colour on her _other_ cheeks. He gestured for her to come in and ran to find a chair in the chaotic mess of his chambers.

Meryll looked around the room in awe. There were shelves of books and scrolls, as well as cases holding vials and jars of all sizes and shapes. Every surface in the room was piled with books and parchment scraps with cryptic notes. In one corner was an alchemy lab, its desk cluttered with vials and open books. It was the alchemy lab that most interested Meryll.

“Maester Tybald,” Meryll said, sitting down by a table piled high with heavy texts and pulling out the jar of ointment, “I came to ask you about this ointment. I can smell the lavender and peppermint, but what else is in it? I’d like to learn about their healing properties.”

The maester smiled. “You have an excellent nose, Lady Bolton,” he said. “You’re right, the lavender helps with the healing, and the peppermint provides cooling for inflammation. There is also melaleuca, which soothes the skin, and oregano, which keeps wounds from festering. Are you interested in herbology, my lady? I have many excellent books on the subject.”

Maester Tybald was already up and scouring the bookshelves before Meryll could answer. He pulled a thick text off the shelf and cleared space on the table to place it in front of Meryll. “And my lady, you are welcome to use my alchemy lab whenever you wish. I have many of the oils and herbs mentioned in this book and we can always ask the steward to source some of the more rare ingredients if you have need.”

Meryll was thrilled. She remembered playing at “making potions” with her sisters back at the Twins. They had no idea what they were doing and just about everything turned into a green, bubbling mess much to Maester Harrin’s chagrin.

Meryll spent the rest of the morning absorbed in her work at the alchemy lab, carefully following the instructions in the book. When she left the maester’s chambers at midday, she had two small vials secured in her pocket.

As Meryll dashed up the stairs to her chambers, she remembered the servant girl that she ran into the night before. She’d have to ask Anna or Jorran about her.

Meryll opened the door to the study to see her lord husband deep in his letters at his desk. He looked up at her entry and rolled the letter he was reading back up. He stood. “My lady. Come sit here on the desk,” he beckoned.

Meryll did as Lord Bolton asked, and once again carefully kept her face devoid of expression. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed that you keep finding hard surfaces for me to sit on, my lord.” Her lord’s mouth twitched in the beginnings of a wicked smile. He reached across the desk, taking her by the waist, and mercilessly slid her across the desk so that she was closer to him. Meryll gasped at the sensation but wouldn’t give Lord Bolton the satisfaction of even a wince.

“My lady, you smell like an apothecary. Where have you been?”

“I spent the morning with Maester Tybald, my lord. Learning about herbology.”

Lord Bolton raised an eyebrow. “How very scholarly of you. I hope you didn’t waste too much of the maester’s time. But you are learning your way around the keep? Everyone is treating you with respect?”

“Yes, my lord,” Meryll answered. “There was a servant girl here in the tower last night. She helped me find something to wear before you came back to our chambers for supper, but she wasn’t one of the usual maids in the tower.”

Lord Bolton’s eyes narrowed. “One of the servants told you to wear that slip of silk? What was her name?”

Meryll didn’t want to get the girl in trouble. “I don’t recall, my lord.” She kept her gaze steady on Lord Bolton, hoping he wouldn’t catch the lie.

“It will take you time to learn every face in the keep,” he said, effectively ending the conversation as he stood. “Are you ready for your inspection, Meryll?”

“If it pleases you, my lord,” she said, a playful smile on her lips. “Shall I bend over the desk?”

“That would please me greatly.”

She jumped off the desk, turned around, and bent over, her arms folded under her head. It gave her some satisfaction to make Lord Bolton pull up her skirts himself. He didn’t seem to find it any great hardship and tugged down her smallclothes to admire his work.

“Very nice,” he said softly, tracing his fingers over the welts. To Meryll’s disappointment, he didn’t linger much longer, and pulled her smallclothes back up and tugged her skirts down. She stood and leaned her hip against the desk, observing her husband.

He was lost in thought, looking at the letter he had rolled up when she came in. “Something wrong, my lord?” she asked.

His eyes searched hers for a minute and then he looked back at the letter, opening it once more. “One of Ramsay’s former squires was found murdered in the crypts at Winterfell. A Frey boy – I believe they called him Little Walder. Some cousin of yours?”

Meryll gasped and sat on the desk. “My little brother. He was murdered, you say?”

Lord Bolton nodded. “The letter reports that tensions are high between my men and Manderly’s men. I fear what will happen if they are snowed in. It’s almost enough to wish Stannis would hurry up and march his army south. It would give our armies something to do other than bicker.” He paused. “I’m sorry for your loss, Meryll.”

Meryll looked grim. “If Little Walder was murdered, he probably deserved it. I didn’t know he was squiring for Ramsay, but they would have been quite the pair. My brother was not… he wasn’t a nice person.”

Lord Bolton raised his eyebrows at her. “That’s an interesting thing to say about your younger brother.”

Meryll sighed. “I don’t wish to speak ill of the dead, but I always knew there was something off with Little Walder. Right from when he was a child. Father brought us home a little kitten when Walder was only six. Walder was too rough with the cat and she scratched him. Ami caught Walder drowning the poor thing the next day. It was the loveliest, fluffiest little grey cat. Grandfather arranged Little Walder to ward here at the Dreadfort not long after.”

“Nice to know Lord Walder is sending me his most promising boys,” Lord Bolton said dryly. He drummed his fingers absently on the desk. Meryll thought her lord looked tired. “I have many things to finish here, Meryll,” he said, dismissing her.

Meryll stood and paused before leaving. “My lord, if there are any tasks here in the keep I could help you with…”

Lord Bolton looked up thoughtfully. “Why don’t you check with Steward Galwin? He may need approval on some of the arrangements being made for the yuletide celebrations. I’ll leave it in your hands.”

Meryll nodded. “Yes, my lord.”

Meryll’s afternoon was spent in the kitchens with Galwin and the cook, going over the menu for the yule feast. She thought what the cook had chosen already looked fine, but she made some small trivial changes just to assert herself as Lady Bolton. And she may have changed the roast potatoes to mashed potatoes simply because she really liked mashed potatoes.

Galwin escorted Meryll back to the tower after the meeting. “Lady Bolton, there is one other matter that I could use your opinion on,” he began. “Lady Barbrey, the Lady of Barrowton, and the sister of Lord Bolton’s second wife, sent a raven this morning. While she doesn’t say so directly, she seems to be a trifle insulted that she wasn’t invited for the Dreadfort yule celebrations. I believe it would be further insult to invite her at this late hour, and she wouldn’t be able to travel here in time anyway, but I’m not sure how to respond without upsetting her more.”

Meryll thought for a moment. “Invite her for a post-yule visit,” she suggested. “Tell her that Lord Bolton wishes for her to visit after yule so he has time to give her a proper welcome to the Dreadfort and enjoy her company without distraction.”

“Yes, my lady, thank you,” Galwin said, leaving Meryll at the tower stairs and heading to the rookery to send the raven.

Meryll returned to her chambers to find that Lord Bolton was no longer there. He did, however, leave a note saying he was working in the council room and would not be joining her for supper. Meryll was pleased that her husband was at least now informing her of his whereabouts.

Meryll had Jorran escort her to the great hall for supper, requesting that he eat with her and help her meet more of the people in the keep. During supper, Jorran made sure to include her in all the discussions, and found subtle ways to call the men by their names so Meryll didn’t have to ask.

Lord Bolton still hadn’t returned to his chambers by the time Meryll crawled into bed, and she fervently hoped he was truly busy and not avoiding her again.

The next day passed much as the day before, with Meryll busy around the keep helping with yuletide preparations and working in Maester Tybald’s alchemy lab. She didn’t see Lord Bolton in the Great Hall for meals, but she was once again summoned by him for an ‘inspection’. This time, she took her jar of ointment with her, asking him to apply it. He did oblige, but was disappointingly clinical about it. Meryll even tried wiggling her backside enticingly to encourage him but received a hard swat for her efforts. She was beginning to enjoy just getting some sort of reaction out of him, though, so she felt all-in-all, it was a good day.

The next morning, the day before yule, Meryll woke up to Lord Bolton sitting on the edge of the bed. She marvelled that his cool gaze was actually so palpable that it woke her from sleep. Although it may just have been his weight on the bed, she reasoned.

She thought maybe his eyes softened a bit when he realized she was awake, but she might have been imagining it.

“Meryll,” he said, stroking her flushed cheek with cool fingers, “I will be away from the keep today. It seems the menu for the yule feast calls for pheasant, so I’m taking two men with me to hunt.”

“Jorran isn’t going with you?” she asked.

“It’s Jorran’s day off,” Lord Bolton answered. “If you ask nicely, I think you may be able to convince him to spar with you in the yard.”

That was enough to get Meryll out of bed. She tried to squeeze past Lord Bolton but he was having none of it. He stood, pushing her flat against the wall and holding her wrists by her sides.

“Are you in such a hurry to escape your lord husband?” he asked, dipping his head to take her earlobe between his teeth. Lord Bolton was already dressed in his leathers and Meryll was still in her shift, so she was able to enjoy the hardness of him against her softness as he thrusted his hips against hers, pinning her against the wall with the length of his body.

“Roose,” she breathed into his hair, wanting to encourage him. He raised his head at the sound of his familiar name, a smile playing on his lips. Meryll’s heart pounded, wondering if she had overstepped.

“What did you just call me?” he said, his voice quiet and deliciously close to her ear.

“I’m sorry, my lord,” she stammered. “If you don’t want me to-“

He quieted her with a quick kiss. “I’ll permit it,” he said. “In private. Depending on my mood.”

He trailed kisses down her face and then pulled away reluctantly. “I must go. Take care of the Dreadfort today while I’m gone, Lady Bolton.”

“Hurry back, Lord Bolton,” she called after him.

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy! XD

Jorran came in low with a series of quick thrusts. Meryll scrambled back, struggling to gain even footing again. Jorran was fast and relentless in his attacks and Meryll was more on the defensive than anything else. He switched tactics and swung at her face, which she parried and kicked low at his knees. He easily reached down with his free hand and yanked her leg out from under her, and Meryll found herself on the ground, _again._

“You’re not used to playing with the big boys, Meryll,” he said, sheathing his sword.

“I’m out of shape!” Meryll protested. “Too much time being a _lady_ and wearing dresses.” Jorran grinned and gave her a hand up.

She was just getting to her feet when a young boy ran up. He looked familiar. “Excuse me, Jorran. But Maester Tybald would like to see you in the rookery,” the boy said, looking very official in his duties. Meryll peered at him.

“Elmar?” she asked. She hadn’t seen little Elmar for several years and had forgotten he had been sent to the Dreadfort as a page.

“Lady Meryll,” Elmar said, bowing. He was much taller than Meryll remembered. She figured he must be twelve or so by now. “Excuse me, my lady, I have several other messages to deliver.”

She watched him run off and felt a bit homesick seeing another Frey.

“I’ll go and see what Tybald wants, and then I’ll be back to show you a better parry for when I come in low,” Jorran said, squeezing her shoulder and heading off.

Meryll stretched out her shoulders while she waited. She enjoyed the ache in her muscles, too long unused. She was also pleased to be wearing a sheepskin-lined black leather jerkin over leather breeches tucked into her boots. She wondered what Lord Bolton, _Roose_ , she corrected herself, would think if she wore her leathers to supper.

Meryll was imagining exactly how Roose would punish her when Myranda, the serving girl who was in the tower a few nights before, touched her arm to get her attention. “My lady, Jorran asked me to fetch you. He wants to show you something in the kennels.”

Meryll thanked the girl and headed over to the kennels, wondering what Jorran wanted. The kennels were on the far side of the keep near the stables. She passed through the wrought iron gates at the kennel entrance and walked down the central corridor that ran in between the two rows of cages. The dogs barked furiously at the entrance of someone they didn’t recognize, the sound echoing off the stone walls in sharp cacophony.

She realized Jorran was not in the kennels, and just before she turned back, she noticed someone had left the door open to one of the cages. Stepping forward to close the door, there was a flash of black fur hurtling towards her, and Meryll found herself flat on her back with a snarling hound lunging at her throat. Meryll had a split second to decide – _arm or throat_ – and shoved her leather clad forearm in the hound’s gaping maw.

“It’s fitting that one of Ramsay’s hounds should kill his master’s murderer.” Myranda spoke from behind the kennel’s entrance gates.

The slavering hound was undeterred by Meryll’s arm, shaking its head and worrying at her as Meryll futilely kicked at its underside. She grabbed the hound’s face with her other hand, trying to sink a thumb into one of its eyes.  The hound gave up on trying to tear at her arm and pulled its head back to lunge again. Meryll wrestled with the hound, one hand still poking at its eyes, and the other holding the upper part of the muzzle, using all her strength to keep it away from her neck.

Meryll could hear Jorran calling her name over the barking of the dogs. Her arms ached with the exertion of fighting with the hound and when she felt the soft, wetness of the hound’s eyeball, she jammed in her thumb as hard as she could, feeling a sickening pop and rush of fluid over her hand. The hound backed off a few steps, whining, and Jorran rushed in, sword overhead, and cut the hound down where it stood.

Meryll’s breathing was heavy with exertion and fear but managed to gasp, “Myranda!” to Jorran.

“She ran when she saw me coming, but I sent two men after her,” Jorran said, reaching down to help Meryll off the ground. “Are you hurt?” Meryll held out her arm to inspect the leather. It wasn’t punctured but Meryll knew she’d have painful bruises from the force of the hound’s jaw. "Maester Tybald had never summoned me. I knew something was wrong and returned as quickly as I could."

“Jorran, which guardsman was supposed to be outside the kennels?”

“That’s a very good question, my lady,” Jorran answered and went to make inquiries. Before long, a frightened looking young man was brought before Meryll and Jorran.

“Hello, Ridley,” Jorran greeted the young guardsman. “Why were you not at your post?”

“Captain Jorran,” Ridley said, turning pale. “There was a mare giving birth in the stables, and Kenrick needed someone with small hands to help turn the foal.” Meryll studied the young man. It was true, he was quite slight with narrow hands.

“And you didn’t find someone to cover your post before leaving?” Jorran asked.

Ridley hung his head. “No, Captain Jorran,” he answered.

Meryll pulled Jorran aside. “What is the usual sentence for this sort of negligence?”

Jorran grimaced. “Usually ten lashes to the guard and five to his commanding officer, which would normally be myself. But my lady, in this situation, with the consequences of his actions… Roose will demand a much more severe sentence.”

Meryll put her hand on Jorran’s arm. “That’s why _I_ will deliver the sentence. Who is acting captain of the guard in your stead?”

“Whitby. He is Ridley’s father,” Jorran said grimly.

Someone had already summoned Whitby and he was furiously chastising his son. Meryll noticed Ridley was crying. “Look at him,” she said to Jorran, “he’s shaking. A lashing will break him. Jorran, that boy is no guardsman.”

“I know, my lady,” Jorran said. “But Whitby’s line has served as Dreadfort guards for over a century. There is a reason I keep Ridley assigned to posts in the inner keep.”

“That didn’t work out so well today, did it, Jorran?” Meryll snapped. “Send for Lord Bolton’s whip.”

A guardsman was sent to fetch the whip and Meryll had Whitby and Ridley escorted to the whipping post in the yard. By this time, a crowd had gathered.

Meryll stood in front of Whitby and Ridley, holding the whip tightly in her hands. “I have chosen your sentences,” she said. “Whitby, you will receive ten lashes for the negligence of your guardsman while he was under your command.” Meryll paused and turned to Ridley. “Ridley, you will administer your father’s sentence,” she said, holding the whip out to him.

It was a grim scene – the boy sobbing and the father yelling at him to strike harder with the whip – but Meryll forced herself to watch with a blank face. When it was done, she took the whip from the boy and turned to his father. “Find this boy a job in the stables if he likes horses so much.”

Meryll turned to see Jorran conferring with two of his men. He beckoned her over with a tilt of his head and when she approached, she was informed that Myranda had been found and was being held in the dungeons.

“Bring her to me,” Meryll ordered.

“Meryll, you can’t let her off with a lashing. She must die for this,” Jorran said quietly.

“I know,” Meryll said.

He led her away from his two men. “You don’t have to do this now. We can wait until Roose returns. He’ll want to question her anyway.”

Meryll’s eyes flashed with anger. “I am in command of the Dreadfort today, Jorran.”

Jorran nodded to his two men and then turned back to Meryll. “If you insist on this, I will take her head for you.”

“No, Jorran, I will wield the blade,” Meryll said firmly.

Resigned, Jorran led Meryll into the armoury and pulled out a greatsword as well as an axe. “You might find one of these suitable. They are heavy but you’ll need the weight for a clean cut.”

“I know how weight and balance work in a blade, Jorran.” Meryll lifted the greatsword but feared it would be too heavy. The axe was slightly lighter and Meryll thought if she could get it over her head, the force of the falling blade would cut clean.

When they arrived back in the yard, Myranda had been brought out from the dungeons, and was kneeling over the chopping block, sobbing. Meryll stood beside the block, wondering if she was making the right decision. _Too late now._ “I, Meryll of House Bolton, Lady of the Dreadfort, sentence you, Myranda, to die.”

Meryll broke out into a cold sweat as she lifted the ax. She had a sudden vision of herself hacking away at Myranda’s neck while Myranda screamed and the crowd looked on. Swallowing hard, Meryll swung the axe over her head and let the falling force of the axe do its job, only using her strength to guide the direction of the fall.

The axe swung true, and Myranda’s head fell to the ground. Meryll wasn’t sure how long she stood there, her pulse rapid and deafening in her ears, until she suddenly became aware again of the noise of the crowd and Jorran gently prying the axe out of her grasp.

Jorran’s men brought another man before her. “Ben Bones, the kennel master and Myranda’s father,” Jorran said.

Meryll straightened her back and reined in what was left of her focus. “How many of your hounds were trained by Ramsay?” she asked.

“A-all of them, my lady,” he stuttered.

“You will slaughter every single one of them,” Meryll commanded the kennel master. She turned to Jorran. “Jorran, see that this is done immediately. And find Elmar.”    

* * *

 

Meryll sat at Roose’s desk for some time afterward, staring into space. Elmar had reported that it was Myranda who passed on the summons from Maester Tybald. Meryll saw no reason not to believe the boy.

She was deep in thought and startled when Anna poked her head in the door to ask if Meryll would take her supper in the study or dine in the Great Hall. Meryll didn’t bother changing out of her leathers and made her way down the Great Hall.

When Meryll pushed open the wooden doors of the Great Hall, the sounds of the yuletide celebrations were an assault on her senses. There were musicians playing, and the men were jovial, their voices loud in order to be heard over the music.

Meryll made a point to slam the great wooden doors shut behind her. At the loud noise and the entry of their lady, the men quieted and the music died away.

“A woman died in the yard today,” Meryll said quietly, and the room hushed even more as the men strained to hear her words. “Yes, she brought it upon herself, but we will still show respect for the loss of a life. The yuletide celebrations will be delayed until tomorrow.” Meryll wasn’t sure if the men would be upset with her bringing their celebrations to a close, but she decided she didn’t really care.

The conversation resumed but the men were quiet and solemn. Meryll took her place at the table and filled her plate with food, but she had no appetite. She sat there for a few moments longer before getting up to leave.

Jorran met her at the door. “After an execution, Roose usually soaks in the baths, my lady.”

“Thank you, Jorran, that might be a good idea,” Meryll said, and leaned heavily on him as he escorted her back to the east tower.

The baths were built deep under the Dreadfort where they were heated by natural hot springs. It made sense for these Northern lords to build their keeps over the life-preserving warmth of the springs, Meryll supposed. Lord Bolton’s private baths were in a large chamber, dark from the lack of windows but lit by torches. There were two pools – one steaming hot, heated by the hot springs, and the other was unheated. Meryll wasn’t sure of the point of the unheated pool but Maester Tybald swore there were therapeutic benefits to taking a cold bath. Meryll didn’t feel a great need to test that theory. Leaving a trail of discarded clothes from the study down the stairs to the baths, Meryll eased herself into the hot pool. The pools had been built deep enough to stand in, and the water came almost all the way up to Meryll’s shoulders.

Meryll floated on the water, eyes closed, letting the weightless feeling and cleansing heat wash away the events of the day.

Sometime later, she heard footsteps descending the stairs. Meryll let her feet fall to the stone floor of the pool, and she stood up to see Roose approaching. He studied her, a slight furrow in his brow, and sat on the stone bench by the edge of the pool.

“I’m sorry I didn’t greet you at the gates, my lord,” Meryll said. “Was your hunt successful?”

“It was,” Roose answered carefully. “And I heard you had an eventful day as well?”

Meryll said nothing.

“I was impressed with how you handled Whitby and Ridley’s punishment,” Roose said, casually. “The sentence had more of an impact on the boy than a whipped and bleeding back ever could, and his ineffective use of the whip made it very clear to Whitby that his son had no business serving as a guard. It’s not the sentence I would have chosen, but effective none the less.”

Meryll pulled herself out of the pool, letting her feet dangle in the water. “I took a woman’s head today, Roose.”

Roose eased down from the bench to sit cross-legged beside Meryll. “Yes, and I hear it was a clean cut. With my great ax, no less.” He was quiet for a moment.

“She had to die, Meryll.”

Meryll turned to face him. “I’m sorry I didn’t wait for you to question her.”

“I would have enjoyed hearing her scream,” Roose admitted. “But interrogations are messy and exhausting work. Perhaps it’s for the best.”

Meryll searched his face. “You’re not angry with me?”

His eyes softened. “No, Meryll, I’m very, very pleased.” He paused. “Are you angry with _me?_ ”

“No,” Meryll said, surprised. “Why would I be?”

“I had all of Ramsay’s men put to the sword but didn’t even consider that his bed warmers might be a danger,” Roose said.

Meryll shrugged. “I wouldn’t have thought of it either. Do you think Ben Bones knew?”

“No,” Roose said. “Jorran thinks Ben Bones is just a mourning widower who let his daughter run wild. I tend to agree. But I’ll have a discussion with him after yuletide.”

Meryll slid back into the water, wanting to forget. She turned to face Roose, and kicked back from the wall of the pool, gliding through the water face up, wanting him to see her body, _want_ her body.

“Join me,” she said, standing again. Roose’s eyes darkened, but she could tell just by watching him that he was fighting hard to resist the temptation.

“I am in great need of a leeching, Meryll,” he said, voice tight. “Are you almost done with your bath?”

“I’m done,” she said, and floated over to the edge of the pool. She considered him for a moment, and then looked suspiciously at the pool. “Do you wear the leeches _in_ the pool?”

Roose nearly laughed at the horrified expression on her face. “No, Meryll, I don’t use the leeches in the pools. I soak in the hot water first – the heat helps bring the blood to the surface of the skin. Then I sit on this bench and apply the leeches.”

Meryll made a face. “How does Lord Bolton relax after a long day? He applies leeches and sits on a hard, stone bench.” She pulled herself out of the pool and Roose stood to wrap her in a linen cloth. Meryll looked up to catch his gaze. “My moon blood is finished, my lord.” He looked away.

“Meryll, you’ve had a long day,” he said. “Go and eat something and then off to bed with you. Don’t wait up for me.” Meryll could feel Roose’s eyes on her as she slowly made her way up the stairs, linen wrapped tightly around her. He didn’t call her back despite her fervent wishes that he would.

Back in the study, Meryll flopped down on the settee by the fire. She glanced up to see Jorran holding vigil at the door. “Go away, Jorran,” she said.

“I will,” he said, “if you let me bring you something to eat.”

“A bottle of wine,” she decided. “And supper for my husband and I.” Jorran left to find someone to run down to the kitchens, and Meryll was glad to be alone. She fought back angry tears. She was tired of her husband toying with her. When he talked to her and teased her, the rest of the world would fall away, and she would bask in the warm light of his attentions. And then, just as quick, she would be left in the dark. His rejection stung. She wouldn’t have it.

She was pacing by the fire, still in her stupid linen cloth, when Jorran came in with a servant carrying food and wine. Once the servant was gone, Meryll poured a goblet full of wine and downed it all at once.

“My lady,” Jorran started but stopped when Meryll turned to glare at him.

“Go away, Jorran,” she said. He didn’t move from his position inside the door.

Meryll arranged Roose’s supper on the small dining table, and fetched a fur for the floor beside his chair. She then let the linen cloth fall from her shoulders and she knelt on the fur, waiting for her lord.

“Meryll, I must advise against this. Even with the leeching, his blood will still be riding high after such a day,” Jorran warned.

“You are dismissed, Jorran,” Meryll said in a steely tone.

Jorran didn’t move. “I’m staying here for your own protection, my lady.”

“Jorran, Lady Bolton gave you an order.” Roose had come up from the baths. Meryll felt a wave of desire pass through her at the sound of his commanding voice.

“Yes, my lord,” Jorran said and finally left.

Meryll kept her back straight and head down, a position she felt had equal parts strength and submission. Roose sat in the chair beside her, his legs stretched out under the table. He ate a few bites of his supper before Meryll’s stomach growled noisily, and he turned his attention to her. He fed her several bits of meat and she ate hungrily. She was not so careful with her mouth this evening as the last time he fed her, and made sure to nip at his fingers a few times. She heard Roose take a deep breath and exhale slowly, and she knew she was having an effect on him.

Roose then reached his hand down again, this time with mashed potatoes smeared on his finger. Meryll used her tongue to lick one side of his finger clean. She rolled her eyes upward so she could meet his gaze and shivered when she saw the dark look in his eyes. She kept looking into his eyes as she took his finger into her mouth and sucked off what was left of the potatoes.

Roose stood up so fast that he knocked his chair over with a crash. In one movement, he pulled her up and lifted her roughly onto the table, her legs on either side of him. He fumbled at his laces and then he was thrusting inside her, his hands grasping her hips so tightly she knew he would leave marks. Meryll threw her head back at the sensations sheering through her with each thrust of his hips. She felt an all-consuming need start to build deep in her core and tried to answer his thrusts with movements of her own but his hard hands kept her from moving. All she could do was _feel._ He began to pound into her and she heard herself making pleading noises but she didn’t know what it was she was asking for. And then his grip on her hips tightened and he growled out his release.

The tension left his body and he relaxed into her, pressing her forehead against hers as he struggled for control. He stood up and took a linen napkin from the serving tray to wipe the fluids from between her legs. He then cradled her face in his hands. She was still breathless. “I’m sorry I didn’t wait for you to reach the heights of your pleasure, Meryll. It has been a very long wait for me since our wedding night.”

She didn’t know what he was talking about. “The heights of my pleasure, my lord?”

Roose looked at the confusion in her eyes and lifted her off the table and carried her over to his chair by the fire. He sat, and arranged Meryll in his lap, draping each of her legs over his. He pulled her head back to rest in the hollow of his shoulder and he leaned down to nuzzle her neck and inhale the scent of her hair.

Meryll sighed with pleasure as Roose traced his mouth over her ear and neck. “Meryll, you were very wet when I took you on the table,” he said, voice soft in her ear. She hummed in agreement. “Do you know why?” he continued.

“I wanted you,” she said. “I wanted you to take me.”

“Yes, you made that obvious by disregarding my orders and stripping and displaying yourself alongside my supper,” he murmured with a trace of amusement in his voice. He leaned down and nipped her shoulder lightly. “Do you remember the first time you ever felt aroused like that, damp between your thighs?”

She blushed at the memory. Was she really going to tell him? He nipped again at her shoulder, this time a little harder.

“Yes, my lord. I was still playing at being a boy, maybe 12 or 13. A few of us slipped out of the keep one night to visit a brothel house. Willem was the oldest and he said he had enough silver for a night with a whore and said we could come along and watch. When we got there, the Matron refused to let us in at first, but when Willem gave her all his silver, she allowed us into what she called the ‘peep show’ room. There were holes in the wall for us to watch what was happening in the next room.”

Roose reached down to cup her breasts. “And what was happening?”

Meryll moaned as he massaged her breasts, teasing her nipples until they were tight and aching. “Two women, my lord. Naked and kissing and touching each other.”

“And when you returned to the keep that night, did you lie awake thinking about those women?” Roose asked, rolling her nipples between his fingers.

“Yes,” she breathed, gasping as a wave of heat shot from her breasts to her core.

He persisted. “The thought of another woman touching you excited you?”

“No, my lord, the thought of someone watching me.”

Roose paused. “That’s very interesting, Meryll. And did you ever touch yourself while you thought about that?”

Meryll shook her head.

“What other times do you remember being excited like that?” Roose asked, now flicking her nipples with his fingers.

“My lord, I can’t think when you’re touching me like that,” she complained. He moved his hands to the armrests of the chair and waited for her answer.

“A few years back, when King Robert and his royal party stopped at the Twins on their way to Winterfell. The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard watched some of us spar in the training yard. He gave me some tips to improve my sword play, and showed me how to maneuver more effectively. He had to touch me a bit in his teaching. It was nothing inappropriate, my lord, but later, I imagined him showing me those same maneuvers but finding reasons to touch me where he shouldn’t.”

“You fantasized about the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard? That would have been Ser Barristan. He is an old man,” Roose scoffed.

 _Jealous?_ Meryll thought. “He was still in good form,” Meryll said. “And there is something very appealing about a man who is very good at what he does.”

“And when was the first time _I_ aroused you?” he asked. Meryll smiled. He _was_ jealous.

“At our wedding feast, my lord. When you whispered in my ear that my disrespect would not be tolerated,” she told him.

Roose made a sound of approval in her ear. He moved his legs apart, which forced her legs to spread even wider than his. Tracing a finger up the inside of her thigh, he then brushed his knuckles against her mound. Roose let out a low groan.

“You are enjoying this, Meryll,” he said, showing her the wetness glistening on his hand. “Was there something in particular that we talked about that you especially liked?”

She thought about it. “It was all exciting, my lord, but what I really like is the sound of your voice speaking so deep in my ear.”

He deepened his voice even more. “The sound of my voice makes you wet, Meryll?”

Her giggles were cut short when he slid his fingers through her slick folds, stroking her swollen and needing flesh, sliding along the sides of her sensitive nub but never where she needed his touch most. He leaned in and gently suckled her earlobe as his fingers continued to play between her legs. When his fingers finally brushed over her throbbing bud, she cried out, her need growing to almost overflowing.

Meryll tried to beg but couldn’t string the words together and she pleaded incoherently for something, for _more._ Her legs shook and her insides tightened as he flicked and stroked her most sensitive spot. He leaned down to take one aching nipple in his mouth and bit down hard, and she finally shattered as devastating pleasure rolled in waves over her, causing her body to convulse in release. She continued shuddering under his hand until he took mercy on her and released her throbbing nipple and slowed his stroking between her legs.

" _That_ was reaching the heights of your pleasure, Meryll," he said.

Meryll lay limp against his chest, gasping. “My lord, it’s more than just reaching the heights of my pleasure – it’s going over the top and plummeting off the edge.”     

“That’s an excellent way of describing it,” he murmured in her ear. Meryll squirmed in his lap, feeling his hardness underneath her – he was aroused again.

“Will you take me again?” she asked, still breathless.

Roose reached down and ran his fingers over her opening. She winced. “You’re still raw from the first time, Meryll. I’ll hurt you.”

Meryll slid out of his grasp and turned around, climbing back in the chair to straddle his hips. He hadn’t bothered lacing his breeches back up, so she reached down to take hold of his swollen cock and slowly lowered herself onto it. “True,” she said, “but I might like it.” The sensation from the sliding of his thickness through her swollen and sensitive flesh was exquisite and painful at the same time.

Roose groaned and grabbed her hips to control the speed of her movements. He was relentless, slamming her down onto his cock over and over again, sending stabs of pleasure pouring through her body. He reached between their bodies, and slid his fingers over her tender bud, still overwhelmingly sensitive from before. He took that bud firmly between his fingers and tugged. She screamed as she came, harder than before, spasms of pleasure shooting through her body and causing her to buck her hips against him. Roose let out a strangled groan as he shot his own release inside her.

Meryll collapsed in his arms, breathing hard. Roose stood and carried her into the bedchamber, laying her on the furs covering the feather bed, and then climbed in beside her. She rolled on her side to fling an arm over him.

“Was it like this with my sister?” she asked.

Roose was silent for a long time, gently stroking her hair and waiting for his heart rate to slow. Finally, he answered.

“It wasn’t like this with anyone, Meryll.”

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: smut overload

When Meryll opened her eyes in the morning, the first thing she saw was two steely grey eyes peering back at her. Roose was lying on his side, watching her.

“You know, this is the second morning I’ve woken up to you watching me sleep,” she told Roose. “It’s a bit disturbing.”

His lips turned up in a fleeting smile, gone as fast as it came. “I told you I could disturb you.”

Meryll sat up and listened. “It’s so quiet. Where’s Anna?”

Roose sat up as well and winced a little as he got out of bed. Sore joints? It was the first time Meryll had seen him show the effects of his age. “Since it’s nearly midday, I expect everyone is in the Great Hall for the yuletide celebration already. Most of the keep has the day off today. Anyone working in the kitchen or on guard patrols today will get tomorrow off instead.” Roose’s mouth twitched. “You’ll have to figure out how to dress yourself this morning, Meryll.”

“It’s a good thing you’re here to help me with the laces,” Meryll said, walking out the door and putting a little extra bounce in her step because she knew Roose was watching her backside.

Meryll was standing in front of her open wardrobe when Roose came up behind her. Most mornings, she just wore whatever Anna had put out for her, not really having a preference on which dress to wear. They were all the same to her.

“The crimson wool with the fur stole, Meryll,” Roose suggested. Meryll chose to hear it as a suggestion, anyway. It was an unadorned, deep red fitted gown with long sleeves and an off-the-shoulder neckline. It was meant to be worn with a sable fur stole, which was hanging beside the gown.

Roose helped her dress, and discovered Meryll’s disdain for smallclothes. He didn’t argue with her when she refused to wear them. After he finished tightening the laces, he went to his desk and returned with a silver brooch in the shape of House Bolton’s flayed man sigil. He arranged the fur stole around her shoulders, and fastened it in place with the brooch. He stepped back to admire his work.

Meryll thought he looked too serious, so she playfully spun in a circle, giving him a full view of her ensemble. She was rewarded with a half smile.

“You’ll wear your hair up today, Meryll,” he said. “I want to see that lovely neck of yours.”

Meryll laughed. “You think I know how to put my hair up?” Roose raised his eyes to the heavens and walked to the door to give orders to the man outside.

Minutes later, a small grubby looking girl, clearly from the kitchens from the grease stains on her tunic, showed up looking very nervous. Meryll took the girl by the hands and sat on the settee, pulling the girl down beside her. “I just need you to pull my hair back into a low twist. Do you think you can do that?”

The girl nodded nervously and went to work. When she was done, Roose inspected Meryll. “No,” he said, “it’s too severe.”

The poor girl shook with fright. Meryll realized that being in the kitchens, she wouldn’t have ever had any contact with Lord Bolton, and had probably heard tales of his cruelty. Meryll took the girl’s hands again, trying to give her courage. “Sweet thing, can you just loosen some pieces around my face?” Meryll asked.

The girl nodded and loosened a few strands of hair to softly frame Meryll’s face. Roose gave a nod of approval and the girl all but ran out the door.

Meryll laughed. Roose kept a straight face. “I was perfectly civil to her.”

“Your reputation precedes you, my lord,” Meryll teased. She spun in a circle for him again. “Is my appearance appropriate now?” Roose pushed her out the door.

As Meryll made her way down the winding steps of the tower, Roose followed very close behind, his hands reaching around her to slide down her body and leaning in to kiss and nibble at her exposed neck. They somehow made it down the stairs safely and when they reached the tower door, he grabbed her arms with hard hands, immobilizing her. He kissed her ruthlessly, his tongue delving deep into her mouth. Once he was satisfied, and she was breathless, he took her arm and opened the door, walking down the corridor like a perfectly well-bred, courteous Lord, escorting his Lady to the Great Hall.

They entered the Great Hall, and Meryll marveled at the transformation. Although it was still dim and smoky as always, the servants had been hard at work with festive decorating. A red velvet bow had been tied around each and every one of the human skeleton hands that served as torch holders along the walls, and the skull candle holders on the tables were decorated with wreaths of holly. The massive evergreen tree had been erected in the corner near the hearth and was now embellished with pink and red ribbons and strings of dried berries. More tables had been brought in to seat the families of all of Roose’s men, and the hall was vibrant with the sound of music and children and jovial conversations. Meryll turned to smile at Roose, who had been watching her reaction.

They sat in their usual chairs. Jorran was already there, eating and teasing a servant girl who didn’t seem to mind his attention. Breakfast was hotcakes made from oats, eggs and milk, served with fresh honey. Mead and wine was already being served, despite the early hour.

Meryll was still eating when a servant approached carrying a small crate with a purple ribbon tied around it. “Lady Bolton, this crate was delivered to the keep for you this morning,” the servant said, placing it on the table in front of her. Meryll looked at Roose and he nodded his approval and gestured for her to go ahead and open it.

She undid the ribbon and opened the lid to see two shiny green eyes staring up at her. It was a tiny, mewling, grey kitten. Meryll squealed and pulled the kitten out. “He’s sooo fluffy!” she exclaimed, holding the kitten tight to her chest. She leaned over to Roose and whispered, “Thank you, my lord.”

Roose made a face and said, “Don’t thank me, it was Jorran’s idea.”

Some of the children had caught sight of the kitten, so Meryll stood and turned to let them all have a turn stroking the soft fur.

When she was finally able to sit down again, Roose and Jorran were deep in discussion. Stannis Baratheon had left the wall and was marching south, presumably to take Winterfell. “We are still waiting to hear numbers from our scouts,” Roose was saying. Jorran asked about sending more supplies to Winterfell to prepare for a long siege, and Meryll tuned out. She turned around in her chair to watch the couples who were dancing to the lively music. Everyone looked so happy. It was a shame that her husband didn’t dance.

“Jorran, dance with my lady wife,” she heard Roose say. Jorran made his way around the table and held out an arm to Meryll.

“Lady Bolton?” he said. He really was a striking man, Meryll thought. Tall and leanly muscled, he had the long legs and broad shoulders that caused the serving girls to titter excitedly when he walked the corridors of the keep. His black hair was cut short, and peppered with a not unattractive amount of grey. Meryll handed the kitten to Roose and took Jorran’s arm despite still being a little miffed that he didn’t follow her orders the night before.

He was a confident dancer and led well, so Meryll found it wasn’t a problem that she didn’t really know the steps. It was a slow, processional dance, which mostly involved taking graceful gliding steps in some order of direction that was a mystery to Meryll, but she let Jorran push and pull her in the right direction.

“You’re still annoyed with me,” Jorran observed.

Meryll gave him a reproachful look. “You treat me like a small child, Jorran.”

Jorran sighed. “I’m only following orders, Meryll,” he said, sounding resigned. “I’ll let you in on a secret. That evening that you escaped Ramsay, Roose made me swear an oath to protect you… from himself.”

“Jorran, that’s absolutely ridiculous. Do you really think Roose would harm me?” Meryll asked.

“He certainly seems to think so,” Jorran said grimly.

“I asked what _you_ thought, Jorran.”

Jorran paused.

“Your hesitation is answer enough,” Meryll said. “What am I missing here? What has happened that the two of you are so convinced he will hurt me?”

Jorran shook his head. “I’ve already said too much.” They danced two steps back, and then four to the right. “But anyways, I thought you should know why I’m so hard to get rid of at times.”

Meryll observed many maidens watching her jealously as she danced with Jorran. “Why aren’t you married, Jorran? I begin to fear for my life at the looks some of these girls are giving me.”

“I don’t have time for a wife,” Jorran said dismissively.

“You don’t get lonely?” Meryll asked.

“There are enough willing bodies around the Dreadfort to keep my bed warm.”

“But no one special?” Meryll asked.

“No,” was Jorran’s curt answer. “And Meryll, don’t get any ideas about matchmaking. I see that look in your eyes.” Meryll hid a smile.

The song ended and Jorran escorted Meryll back to Roose, who looked uncomfortable with the squirming kitten in his arms. Meryll took the kitten from Roose, gently extracting the tiny little claws from Roose’s quilted doublet.

“Ser Barri likes you!” Meryll teased Roose, earning herself the now familiar Lord-Bolton-does-not-approve look. A small girl shyly approached Meryll, asking if she could play with the kitten with some ribbons pulled from the yule tree. Meryll smiled warmly and passed Ser Barri to the girl.

The musicians started another song, and this one was familiar to Meryll. She rose to find a seat closer to the musicians. There were four of them – playing lute, viol, recorder and tambourin. Meryll recognized the tune as something her mother used to sing to her, despite it never being the proper season for the song. Meryll clapped appreciatively when they finished. The lutist nodded his thanks, and Meryll stood to ask him the name of the song.

“It is The Blood Red Rose of Yule, my lady,” he responded and introduced himself as Thomas.

“My mother used to sing it every night,” Meryll explained. “I think I even still remember the words.”

“Wonderful!” Thomas exclaimed. “Shall we sing it together?” He motioned for his fellow musicians to play the song again. Meryll remembered nearly all the words, but switched to a hum when she wasn’t sure, letting Thomas’ clear tenor voice take the lead. The guests in the Great Hall were delighted to hear their Lady Bolton sing, and clapped and cheered when the song was done.

Thomas looked at Meryll appreciatively. “My lady, you have a lovely warm and inviting tone to your voice. Is there another tune you’d like to sing? I dare say you couldn’t name one that I’m not familiar with.”

Meryll was thoughtful for a minute, and then suggested “Come again! Sweet love”. Thomas smiled. “A very sensuous choice, my lady. I think it will be quite nice accompanied by the lute alone.” Thomas strummed the first few chords and then paused, modulating into a lower key. “I think this key should suit your voice, Lady Bolton,” he said, nodding for her to begin. Meryll sang. The song was one that she had always loved, but not until now had the words ever rung so true.

 _Come again! sweet love doth now invite_  
_Thy graces that refrain_  
_To do my due delight,_  
_To see, to hear, to touch, to kiss, to die,_  
_With thee again in sweetest sympathy._

 _All the day the sun that lends me shine_  
_By frowns do cause me pine_  
_And feeds me with delay;_  
_His smiles, my spring that makes my joy to grow,_  
_His frowns, the Winters of my woe._

 _Out alas, my faith is ever true,_  
_Yet will he never rue_  
_Nor yield me any grace;_  
_His eyes of fire, his heart of flint is made,_  
_Whom tears nor truth may once invade._

 _Gentle Love, draw forth thy wounding dart,_  
_Thou canst not pierce his heart;_  
_For I, that do approve_  
_By sighs and tears more hot than are thy shafts_  
_Did tempt while he for triumph laughs._

As the final notes from Thomas’ lute slowly died away, the Great Hall was quiet for a split second – the crowd in spellbound silence – before someone started clapping and applause filled the air. Meryll took a graceful bow and acknowledged Thomas and invited him to bow with her.

The musicians started a new song as Meryll made her way back through the guests. She passed a table of women drinking wine and laughing, and had a sudden longing for the company of her sisters.

Meryll found Roose and Jorran deep in what looked to be a serious discussion. They stopped talking when she drew near.

“My lady,” Roose said in greeting, nodding to her.

“My lord,” she said in response. “I feel I’ve been remiss in not sending letters to my family. May I go to the rookery to send some yuletide greetings?”

“As you wish,” Roose said. “I’ll send Jorrah to fetch you when the feast is starting.”

Meryll went up to Maester Tybald’s rooms to write her letters. She wrote a short note to her grandfather wishing him a happy yule and letting him know that Stannis was heading south from the wall, even though she suspected he already knew. Meryll also suspected that the news of Ramsay’s death had made it to the Twins, but wasn’t sure if her grandfather would have been made aware of the specifics, so she didn’t mention it. Meryll wrote a longer note to her mother and Ami, letting them know she was settling in to her new home and her husband was treating her well. She decided not to mention that she had carried out her first execution sentence or that her husband had a penchant for spanking her.

Meryll climbed the steep steps to the rookery and was surprised to find Elmar there. “Why are you not at the celebration in the Great Hall, Elmar?” Meryll asked.

“Lord Bolton is waiting for updates from his scouts about Stannis Baratheon, so someone has to stay in the rookery,” Elmar answered, looking pleased at having something important to do.

“I’ll have someone send up a plate of supper for you,” Meryll said kindly. “Will you send these letters for me? One for the Twins and one to Castle Darry.”

“Yes, right away, Lady Bolton.”

Meryll ran into Jorran as she was leaving Maester Tybald’s rooms. “My lady,” Jorran said, bowing. “Ser Barri is all played out, so I’ve left him napping in your bedchamber and I’ve just come to fetch you for supper.”

And a delightful supper it was. The servants brought out tray after tray of food: roast pheasant, pigeon pie, carrots, turnips and parsnips, and of course, mashed potatoes. The wine flowed freely, and Meryll was feeling quite relaxed after the meal. She leaned back, groaning and holding her belly.

“Should I have tied your laces a little looser, Lady Bolton?” Roose asked with a bit of a smile.

“Too many mashed potatoes,” Meryll said, and shared an intimate look with her husband as they both remembered the spark that started the flame of their dalliance the night before.

“Shall we retire?” Roose asked. “I have a yule gift waiting for you upstairs.”

Meryll stood. “I have something for you as well,” she said. Roose leaned over to exchange a few words with Jorran and then took Meryll’s hand and led her back to their chambers.

* * *

 

“What is it?” Roose asked, having opened the small silk satchel to find two small vials, one of clear glass and the other made of a sepia-toned glass. Meryll smiled, climbing onto the settee beside her husband.

“They are healing oils, my lord,” she said. “I made them myself in Maester Tybald’s alchemy lab.” She held up the clear vial. “This one will ease your headaches. It is a blend of wintergreen leaf, lavender, peppermint, cilantro and basil. You just need to rub a bit on your temples.”

“I don’t get headaches,” Roose said. Meryll ignored him, having seen him rub his temples after working too long in the council room.

She held up the other vial. “I think this one may help when your blood is rising. I blended chamomile, bergamot, lavender and vetiver, and then I added sandalwood for a more masculine scent. It’s a calming blend. You could apply it after your bath and before leeching. Maester Tybald says the best place to apply the oils is on the soles of your feet.” Meryll watched Roose’s face, wondering if he was going to make a dismissive comment.

“Thank you, Meryll,” he said simply, and stood to place the vials of oil on his desk. “You will find my gift for you in the chest of furs by the hearth.”

Meryll opened the chest to find a large bundle of shiny black fur with a huge pink bow tied around it. She looked at her husband, eyes teasing. “The bow was Galwin’s doing,” Roose said.

“Of course, my lord,” she murmured. She undid the bow and pulled the heavy mass of fur from the chest. Roose crouched down beside her to help straighten the fur out on the floor. It was a massive bearskin rug, easily measuring seven feet from nose to tail.

Roose was watching Meryll’s face. Meryll felt that her husband was waiting for her approval but didn’t want to show it.

“It’s wonderful, Roose.”

Roose sat back on his heels. “That night when I found you in Ramsay’s dungeon and brought you up here. Do you remember how I bathed you?”

“It’s not something I’ll soon forget,” Meryll said.

“I don’t know why,” Roose continued, “but it bothered me to see you lying on these old, worn furs.” He ran his hand over the admittedly ratty-looking furs in front of the hearth. “So when we received word from one of the tenants that a black bear had been seen near the settlements surrounding the keep, I knew the skin would be perfect for you.”

Meryll helped Roose move aside the old furs and arrange the bearskin in front of the hearth. She sat cross-legged on the rug, and Roose was thoughtful as he looked down at her. “When I was picturing this scene, you were wearing far less clothing,” he said. He knelt down to remove her fur stole and paused to brush his lips over her neck and shoulders. Meryll had learned since their wedding day that her husband couldn’t resist her bare neck and shoulders. She’d have to wear her hair up more often, she thought. She observed him inhaling deeply with his head buried in the crook of her neck. Apparently, her scent was also irresistible. He was just getting around to unlacing her dress when there was a knock at the door.

“My lord?” It was Jorran.

“A minute please, Jorran,” Roose responded, pulling off Meryll’s dress and undertunic all at once.

“Only a minute?” Meryll asked Roose, laughing.

Roose’s face remained serious. “Meryll, I invited Jorran to join us this evening.”

Meryll stared. “Roose?”

“I prefer for you to use my title tonight,” he said.

“My lord?”

Roose tilted Meryll’s chin up toward him. “After our discussion last night, I thought you might be interested in having an audience.”

“Oh,” Meryll said. She didn’t know what to say. She felt excited and self-conscious and embarrassed all at once.

“Meryll, I enjoyed how you presented yourself to me beside the table last night,” Roose said. “Kneel for me. Back straight and head down.” Meryll got into position and Roose went to the door to let Jorran in. She kept her head down as the two men walked toward the hearth. Roose took a seat in his chair and Jorran sat on the settee. Meryll trembled and fought the instinct to cover herself with her arms and hands.

Jorran chuckled. “So shy tonight, kitten. Unlike last night, when you stripped down right in front of me.”

Meryll blushed, head still down. “I didn’t think you’d care.”

“He is a man, Meryll,” Roose said dryly.

Meryll looked up. “Yes, but a good guardsman would never see his ward that way.”

“True,” Roose said, turning to Jorran. “You are a terrible Captain of the Guard, Jorran. I should replace you.”

Jorran rolled his eyes. “You’ve been threatening me with that for years.”

Their casual banter put Meryll at ease and she started to relax. “What do you think of my bearskin rug, Jorran?” Roose asked.

“Oh, is there a bearskin rug in here?” Jorran asked, winking at Meryll. She couldn’t help but giggle.

Roose indulged them with a small curve in his lips. “Fair enough. What do you think of my wife?”

Jorran became serious. “She’s lovely, Roose.” With both men eyeing her appreciatively, Meryll felt the room grow warm. She had no idea what her husband had planned for this evening and not knowing was equal parts terrifying and thrilling.

“Tell me how you’re feeling right now, Meryll,” Roose said, ever aware of her emotions which admittedly she wasn’t very skilled at hiding.

“I’m excited, my lord. I like having both of you watch me – it makes me feel beautiful. And I like the feel of the fur beneath me, and knowing that you killed the beast and skinned it just for me.”

Jorran and Roose exchanged a glance but Meryll didn’t know why.

“Meryll, I’d like for you to touch yourself,” Roose said quietly, in that tone of voice that always sent a shiver of desire down Meryll’s spine.

“My lord, I wouldn’t know what to do,” she said, feeling foolish.

“Kitten, why don’t you think about how Lord Bolton touches you,” Jorran said. “Start with your breasts.”

Meryll closed her eyes and thought back to the night before when she was sitting in Roose’s lap and his hands were roaming over her body. She lifted her hands to cup her breasts, slowly massaging and tugging at her nipples.

“Open your eyes, Meryll.” Roose’s voice was silky and commanding. “And spread your legs.” Meryll opened her eyes to see Jorran watching her hungrily, and Roose looking at her with a bit of pride showing in his eyes. She shifted carefully to move her knees apart as far as possible, meeting Jorran’s eyes and then watching him as his gaze lowered to the cleft between her legs.

Emboldened, Meryll slid one hand down her body, fingers brushing over the soft skin of her belly and then stopping to rake lightly through the downy hair between her legs. The only sounds she could hear were her own breathing and the cracking of the fire.

Meryll let her fingers slide lightly down her slit and dipped two fingers into her opening, slick with want. As she plunged her fingers in and out, she caught Roose’s gaze and made sure he noticed when she lowered her eyes to the sizable bulge in his breeches. His lips curled and he shifted his hips in the chair to show her his discomfort.

Jorran was still watching her with rapt attention when she used her thumb to slide over the center of her pleasure. She moaned at the added sensation, wanton hunger spreading from the inside out. _Gods, almost._  Meryll drove her fingers into herself faster and harder, and pressed her thumb firmly against her sensitive nerve-filled spot. Roose started to unlace his leather breeches and the sight of it added just enough to the assault on her senses. Meryll threw her head back as the explosion of sensations burst through her body. Limbs shaking and jerking, Meryll cried out and curled her fingers to eke out just a little more pleasure.

After the little aftershocks were finished, Meryll opened her eyes. Seeing Roose and Jorran watching her, she felt a little bit like a rabbit trapped in the gaze of a starving wolf. _Two_ starving wolves. Roose was holding his erect cock in his hand, and he stood and came to her, brushing her lips with the swollen head of his member. Meryll licked her lips and started to take his cock in her mouth.

“Slower, kitten,” Jorran murmured. “Tease him a bit first.” Meryll licked Roose down the length of his cock, and swirled her tongue around the head. “That’s it, love, now take him in your mouth,” Jorran instructed. Meryll slid her lips up and down his length, and paused to suck gently at the tip. Roose groaned and moved his hands through Meryll’s hair. Jorran continued to murmur soft instructions. “Use your hands too.” “Suck harder now, kitten.”

Meryll could feel Roose’s control shattering. His hands fisted in her hair, taking control of Meryll’s head, and pushed himself deeper into her mouth. Meryll felt the length of him hit the back of her throat and the choking sensation made her gasp for air. She started to panic when she couldn’t get enough air and tried to pull away but Roose had her head firmly in his grasp.

“Roose,” she heard Jorran say in quiet warning. Roose’s hands instantly dropped from her hair. “Breathe through your nose, kitten,” Jorran said soothingly. She did and after a few deep inhales, she felt the panic ebb from her body. Roose pulled out of her mouth but Meryll grabbed his hips and didn’t let him move further away from her. “No,” she said, “I’m fine.”

Roose gently brushed his knuckles down her cheek. “Your pace, then,” he said, and dropped his hands to his side. Meryll used her hands to hold him at the base of his cock and moved her hands in tandem with her mouth. When she saw Roose’s hands start to fist tightly at his sides, she sucked harder until his body stiffened and he let out a strangled, throaty groan. Meryll swallowed his seed, and gently eased her mouth off of him as he softened.

Roose’s strong hands yanked her to her feet and he kissed her deeply, tongue thoroughly exploring her mouth. He walked backwards with her to his chair, and sat, pulling her into his lap. Meryll, spent, squirmed in his lap, trying to burrow deeper into his comforting warmth. She saw Roose and Jorran exchanging glances again, appearing to have a complete conversation in silence. She briefly wondered if she should feel jealous. Jorran ended the conversation with an almost imperceptible shake of his head.

“I will let you two have some time alone,” Jorran said, standing. “Come give me a hug, kitten,” he added, arms open.

Roose loosened his grip on her so she could stand and wrap her arms around Jorran. “Happy yule, Jorran.”

Jorran planted a kiss on top of her head. “My lady, I enjoyed watching you very much.”

After Jorran left, Meryll turned to Roose. “You were thinking about asking me to pleasure Jorran as well.”

Roose’s expression didn’t change. “Yes.”

“Why didn’t you?”

Roose didn’t answer. “Come here,” he said, pulling her back onto his lap and resting his chin on her head. “Would you have wanted to?”

“No,” Meryll said, honestly. “The watching is nice, but I only want you touching me.”

“Good,” Roose said gruffly.

“My lord?” Meryll asked, turning to face him. “You and Jorran have shared women before.”

“True.”

“And it didn’t end well,” she finished.

“Also true.”

Before Meryll could say any more, Roose stood and placed Meryll on her feet. “Off to bed with you. You’ll need your sleep if I’m going to take you hunting tomorrow.” His mouth twitched. “Unless you’d rather stay here and eat feast leftovers.”

“I’d rather hunt, my lord,” Meryll said. “You won’t be joining me in the bedchamber?”

“Not quite yet,” Roose answered.

Meryll smiled when she saw him slip the vial of calming oil into his pocket before he descended the stairs to the baths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Meryll sings at the yuletide feast is by the English Renaissance composer, John Dowland. The text "To see, to hear, to touch, to kiss, to die" seems an odd combination unless you know that "to die" was used as a euphemism for orgasm by Elizabethan poets!
> 
> If you are interested, you can hear some of the verses here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5EBnIiiELVQ


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to BlueEyesBlueSkies and Jennilynn411 for suggesting using music as a muse. Inspiration for this chapter came from Tori Amos' 'Leather' and Sarah McLachlan's 'Do what you have to do'.

Meryll woke up early the morning after Yule, and was shocked to find her husband still in bed with her. He must have gone to bed straight from the baths – he was wearing his light tunic and breeches – and had thrown the furs off the bed.

Meryll propped herself up on her elbow to get a closer look at her husband. She was delighted to see that little Ser Barri had curled up in the crook of Roose's neck and was sleeping contentedly in that way that only cats can. Meryll thought her husband looked fairly content as well. Roose's face was free of the resignation and weariness that she so often saw when he was awake; the lines in his forehead no longer visible. From this angle, she could admire the chiseled angles of his face and aquiline nose in profile. He needed a shave, but Meryll thought the mix of grey and dark whiskers gave him a craggy, rugged look that suited him well. His chest rose and fell at a slow and steady tempo as he slept. Springy curls of chest hair peaked out of the V in the neck of his tunic and Meryll could hardly help but to reach out to touch them.

Roose grabbed her wrist tightly before she could reach her target. Ser Barri woke at the sudden movement and scrambled off the bed in a blur of grey fur.

"You've frightened Ser Barri!" Meryll scolded Roose in a teasing tone. He used his grip on her wrist to push her over onto her back as he rolled on top. Roose ended up on his hands and knees and had somehow managed to pin down Meryll's other wrist in his rolling maneuver. Meryll thought she'd have to ask him to teach her that one later.

"I thought you said watching someone sleep was disturbing, Meryll," he said, voice soft and dangerous.

"Oh no, my lord, only when you do it."

Roose was just bending his head toward her when he seemed to remember something. Meryll knew that distracted look. He was _working_ again. And then he was up and out the door, mumbling about ravens. Meryll pulled a shift over her head and followed him into the study. Sure enough, one of the pages had delivered a letter on Roose's desk.

Roose was already sitting at his desk, reading. He allowed Meryll to sit on his lap but was otherwise focused on its contents.

"News about Stannis?" Meryll asked.

"He is heading west toward Deepwood Motte with a force of over 1,000. His family and the red woman travel with him," Roose said, setting the letter down.

"If he takes back Deepwood Motte from the Ironborn, he'll win the loyalty of the Glovers, and likely all the mountain clans as well," Meryll noted.

Roose turned to look at his wife, surprised. "Very good, Meryll. You are familiar with the politics of the North?"

Meryll pressed her lips to Roose's left temple. "Of course. All the boys at the Twins learn the politics and house relations of the houses of Westeros, since lord grandfather sends so many away to serve as pages or squires."

"And wives," Roose noted. He opened a drawer to pull out ink and parchment. "I need to send orders to Winterfell before we leave to hunt. Why don't you get dressed? I won't be long."

Meryll slid out of Roose's lap before he could push her off as he was wont to do, and perched on the desk. "What will you do?" she asked.

Roose laid the quill down. "What would you do, Meryll?"

"I'm not sure," Meryll said. "Someone needs to take back Deepwood Motte and only you and Stannis have enough men to do so. If you let him take Deepwood Motte, he may lose men in the battle, but he will gain the support of House Glover. But you still have more men counting the Houses that have sworn fealty to you, don't you?"

Roose frowned. "I do. And they are better armed and trained than the mountain clans. But I do question the loyalty of some of my bannermen." He picked up the quill. "It would be ideal if Stannis could take Deepwood Motte but lose many men in the battle. I think I will send a small assault force to raid his camps at night before he reaches Deepwood Motte. Burn the supply tents, kill the horses. Morale is already low due to the snow. Those southron men aren't suited to marching in the North." He began to write.

Meryll left him to it and got up to get dressed. She pulled her shift off and tugged on her leather breeches. She was lacing them up when she noted that the scratching sound of the quill had stopped. Meryll turned.

Roose was thoughtful. "I'm beginning to see the appeal of women wearing breeches," he said, admiring how the leather clung to her lower half. Meryll thought his area of focus was amusing, considering her top half was still bare. She turned around again and finished dressing in a soft white tunic and leather jerkin. Meryll went to the bed chamber for Roose's extra cloak that she had been using as a blanket.

"You know, Meryll, I had several new cloaks made just for you," Roose called from the study.

"Yes, but they don't smell like you," Meryll answered as she emerged, wearing his cloak. He met her at the door and took hold of her hair, using it to pull her head back to a suitable angle as he kissed her full lips and plundered her eager mouth. Leaving her flushed and breathless, he pushed her toward the hall and told her to go eat breakfast and wait for him in the yard.

By the time Meryll finished eating and made it to the yard, Roose, Steelshanks and another guardsman named Nage were already waiting for her with the horses. Roose handed her a beautifully crafted bow of yew; the bowstave engraved with X's representing the flayed man sigil of House Bolton. "I think this will suit you, Meryll," he said.

Thrilled, she held it up to test the length and bow draw. "It's perfect," she said. "How did you know?"

"Don't you remember the day we met? I'm wounded," Roose said.

"Yes, but you only watched me take a few shots," Meryll said.

Roose smiled. "I noticed many things. Who do you think provided measurements for your new wardrobe?"

Meryll strapped the bow to her back and mounted her horse. "That's disturbing."

As they rode through the countryside surrounding the Dreadfort, Meryll had to admit that however unforgiving, winter in the North held beauty as well. Hoarfrost had formed on the tree branches and other surfaces, the ice crystals dancing and sparkling in the morning sun. The white blanket of snow stretched in front of them as far as the eye could see, yet unblemished by tracks. The air smelled clean and crisp, and was refreshingly cold, causing the tip of Meryll's nose to tingle.

Steelshanks and Nage rode several paces behind Meryll and Roose, just close enough to help if there was any trouble, but never obtrusive. Roose led his horse closer to Meryll's. "I know a spot where the pheasants take cover in the cold," he said. "Since you slaughtered all the hounds, we'll have to use Steelshanks and Nage to flush them out."

"And retrieve them too?" Meryll asked hopefully. Roose smirked and nodded.

They rode a bit further and Roose dismounted, motioning for the others to do the same. They walked a ways further until a large pond thick with cattails and other grasses came into view. Roose instructed Steelshanks and Nage to circle wide around the pond and then walk the edges toward Roose and Meryll to flush the birds out.

Roose and Meryll waited downwind of the pond. Meryll felt her adrenalin start to flow as she watched for Steelshanks and Nage, her bow in hand and arrow notched. When she saw the first few birds burst out of the tall grasses, she started to draw, but Roose's hand on her arm stopped her. A few seconds later, he released her arm and drew his own arrow. Meryll followed his lead, and when the full flock flushed, bursting into the sky all at once, she aimed and released her arrow and drew another in one easy motion. She was able to loose three shots, each downing a bird, before the flock passed overhead. As Meryll lowered her bow, she glanced at Roose and found him watching her with a slight curve to his lips. She smiled back and motioned him toward the pond.

Steelshanks had been tracking for Meryll, and Nage for Roose, and they emerged from the marshy bush, each with pheasants in hand. Steelshanks held three, and Nage, two. Roose bagged the birds and they made their way back to the horses.

"Jorran will be pleased to hear you are more skilled with the bow than with the sword," Roose murmured to Meryll.

Meryll made a face. "I wasn't _that_ bad."

Roose took her arm. "You will train every day in the yard with my men for a fortnight, and then I will see for myself."

Meryll grinned at the prospect of training again. And, she'd get to wear her leathers every day.

"Meryll, I'll expect you to still be dressed appropriately when you're not in the yard," Roose added, seeing the speculative grin on her face.

"Yes, Lord Bolton," Meryll sighed.

After that, they spent much of the day looking for deer tracks. Meryll shot a few rabbits on the way and bagged them to skin and eat later. As they travelled into denser woodlands, Meryll and Roose left the horses back with the guardsmen and tracked on foot.

Roose was quiet, as always, but Meryll felt his silence was more contemplative than brooding. His eyes were bright and he seemed quicker to smile. She reached over to squeeze his arm. "This winter air suits you, my lord," she said softly, smiling up at him.

He took her hand in his. "Hunting the day after yule has long been a Bolton tradition. My father used to take me when I was a boy. It was the only time he taught me something other than cruelty."

"Did you take your own sons hunting?" Meryll asked. The light in Roose's eyes faded a bit and Meryll regretted asking.

"Domeric never enjoyed hunting because he occasionally had to get off of his horse that he loved so much. Ramsay loved the hunt but was never satisfied; always chasing a bigger thrill." Roose glanced at Meryll. "I suppose he met his ideal end – the hunter becoming the hunted."

Meryll didn't say anything. She was never sure if Roose held Ramsay's death against her or not. They walked in silence for a time before they started seeing large deer tracks, likely from a red stag. Roose quietly told Meryll there was a low creek bed close by and the stag was probably heading there. They walked a bit further before Roose gestured for Meryll to climb a tree. She did, and he followed close behind. Finding a nice nook to sit in and lean her back against the trunk for a steady shot, she settled in and pulled her bow. Roose ended up on a limb slightly behind and below her. He touched her arm and pointed. Meryll saw the massive red stag drinking from the creek bed about 20 yards away. She looked back at Roose and with a slight tilt of his head, he signaled for her to take the shot.

Meryll pushed her back into the trunk of the tree and drew the arrow, exhaling all the air out of her lungs at the same time as she aimed for the spine of the stag's neck. The stag suddenly looked up, and Meryll released the arrow. There was a hiss as the arrow flew through the air, and then the stag was off running.

Roose was already on the ground running toward the stag when it fell. He blew the hunting horn to summon Steelshanks and Nage.

Roose was crouched by the stag when Meryll caught up to him.

"Meryll, you hit the spine," he said, unable to keep the wonder out of his voice.

"Well, I would hope so," Meryll said, "that's where I was aiming." She knew the smarter place to aim was the chest broadside, piercing both lungs. It was a larger target and easier to hit but the beast was usually able to run another 100 to 200 yards before falling.

Roose raised an eyebrow at her.

"I'm lazy," she explained. "You wanted to chase the beast through the bush? I certainly didn't."

Roose gave her a half smile, shaking his head. "Come here," he beckoned, pulling her down to crouch beside him. "Have you ever dressed a stag before?"

"Not without a lot of help," Meryll admitted.

Roose was a patient teacher. He walked her through the steps of dressing the stag, holding his hand over hers on the knife when he sliced open the abdomen so she would know exactly how much pressure to use to avoid rupturing the stomach and intestines, showing her how to tie off the bladder and intestines, and pulling the organs out himself when she shied away.

Meryll let him take care of the skinning, watching as he quickly sliced the skin at the hooves and neck and used his strength to peel the skin off from the neck. It was the fastest and neatest skinning job she had ever seen.

"Did your father teach you to skin?" Meryll asked once he was done.

Roose was quartering the carcass and didn't look up. "Yes," he said, "but I didn't learn with animals." Meryll stilled. She sensed that Roose wanted to talk more so she kept her face blank and didn't say anything.

"I was seven years old the first time I watched my father flay a man," he said, packing snow around the carcass quarters. "And ten when he taught me how to do it myself." Roose turned to look at Meryll. She wasn't sure what he expected to see: pity, horror, fear or something else. Meryll wanted nothing more than to go to him and wrap her arms around him. But she didn't.

Roose cocked his head to the side, listening. "Steelshanks and Nage are bringing the horses."

Meryll stood aside and watched her husband tell Steelshanks and Nage how she brought down the stag; the pride evident in his voice. The two guardsmen helped Roose bag the carcass and arrange the ropes so the horses could drag the bags back to the keep.

"Take the three horses and the game back to the Dreadfort immediately. Lady Bolton and I will stay out another night, sheltering at the Weeping Tower ruins," Roose said to the guardsmen. "And leave those rabbits that Lady Bolton bagged."

Roose walked down to the stream to wash, nodding at Meryll to join him. She knelt with him at the stream, washing; the icy water jolting her awake. The adrenalin from shooting the stag had made her shaky but the shock of the cold steadied her. When she was done, Roose was staring at the water. She reached out and touched his arm, and when he turned to face her, his eyes were wild.

He knocked her to the ground, and she fell, sprawled on her back. Roose was on her in a flash, tearing at the laces of her breeches and then yanking them down. He quickly had his own breeches down and held Meryll down by her wrists. She protested and struggled at first, swearing at him when she felt the cold snow on her bottom and legs, but when he burrowed his hips between her legs and found what he was looking for, his fucking had a sense of desperation to it, and Meryll surrendered. She wanted to hold him and caress him, answering each of his violent movements with one of tenderness, but his grip on her wrists didn't allow for it. Instead, she turned her head and kissed his face gently and murmured soft comforting words in his ear. When Roose finally spilled his seed in her, he collapsed, breathing hard, his weight heavy on Meryll.

Meryll continued kissing his face, and now that her wrists were free, she was able to reach her arms around him, stroking his back and neck gently as his breathing regulated. Suddenly, Roose rolled off of her, stood and laced his breeches back up, and headed back to the horse.

Meryll reached down and tugged her breeches back up, but then lay back in the snow again, tears falling down her cheeks. Meryll blinked away the rest of her tears, wiped away what was still evident on her face, and pulled herself to her feet. When she reached the clearing, Roose was already mounted. He reached down a hand to help pull her up, and she took it.

They rode in silence to the ruined keep, only a lonely tower standing in the vast fields of snow. Roose helped Meryll dismount and led her into the tower. The stairs were crumbling and unusable, but there was still a hearth standing in a chamber on the ground floor. Roose unfastened his heavy cloak and laid it on the floor by the hearth before leaving to bring in supplies from the horse. Meryll added her own cloak on top of Roose's, and sat cross-legged on the fur cloaks.

Meryll felt numb. She knew Roose's actions went too far, past the rough but teasing lovers games they usually played, but she couldn't escape the yearning she felt for him, to be near him. And she couldn't escape the suspicion that her tears were for him and not for herself.

When Roose returned, the rabbits were skinned and spitted, and he went to work starting a fire in the hearth without speaking. Once the spits were over the flames, he remained crouched by the fire, not looking at Meryll.

Meryll reached out and tugged on Roose's arm. "Come," she said softly, "sit with me." He let her pull him onto the furs beside her. Meryll adjusted her position to avoid irritating her raw and bruised tailbone.

Roose observed her discomfort. "I am sorry I took you so roughly," he said, expression unchanging.

Meryll let out a choked laugh. "You are _not_ sorry."

Roose moved so he was facing Meryll. "Perhaps not," he admitted, lifting his hand to stroke her cheek, finger tracing the streak left by her tears. He studied her for a moment before speaking again.

"Do you remember when I had you tell me about the first time you felt desire?" he asked. Meryll nodded.

"That first encounter with desire shaped you, Meryll," he continued. "It shaped what you desire _now._ Do you understand that?" Meryll nodded again, not sure where he was going with this, but sensing that it was important to him.

"I had a milknurse when I was a babe; Terra was her name. As I got older, my father kept her with me as a maid, responsible for putting me to bed and cleaning my chambers. And as many boys are with their milknurses, I was terribly sweet on her."

Meryll smiled, taking Roose's hands in her own, but did not interrupt him.

"One night, she was reading to me before bed, and she fell asleep in the chair by the bed so I took the book from her and read it myself. For whatever reason, my father chose that night to come in and say good night to me. When he saw that Terra had fallen asleep when she was supposed to be working, he woke her up and beat her. And then he stripped her clothes off and raped her on my bedchamber floor while I watched."

Meryll sat perfectly still, clutching her husband's hands, and desperately trying to keep any sign of pity off of her face.

Roose's face remained unreadable as he spoke. "That was the first time I had seen a naked woman outside of a book, and it was a woman I had imagined naked many times. And that was the first time I saw the act of mating." He took a deep breath and looked into Meryll's eyes. "Do you understand how that shaped me?"

 _More than you do,_ Meryll suspected. She knew he was only thinking of his desire to combine violence and intimacy, but she was thinking of this little boy who had nothing but terror and suffering around him at his most impressionable time. This little boy who became a passive observer of the joys and pains of life, because that was what was necessary. _You do what you have to do._ Meryll tried to climb into his lap, but he resisted so she settled back where she was and let him continue.

"Around that same time, my mother grew tired of my father beating me, so she convinced him to find me a whipping boy like the royal princes and princesses." Roose paused. "Who was my whipping boy, Meryll?" he asked.

Meryll thought for a moment, and knew the answer without any doubt. "Jorran," she whispered.

The look on Roose's face showed that he was far away from that hearth fire in the Weeping Tower. Meryll knew he was back in the Dreadfort, just a young boy.

"We were inseparable. I was an only child, and this was finally a chance to have a brother. We got in more trouble than I ever did on my own, but I hated seeing someone else suffer in my place. I thought it was _weak._ "

"So you stopped getting in trouble?" Meryll asked, already knowing the answer.

Roose smiled grimly. "No, Meryll, we stopped getting _caught._ And make no mistake, even though we were inseparable, I was still the young lord, and he the whipping boy, and I may never know how often he was a willing participant in the things we did, or if he just knew he had no choice. But as we got older, our amusements became… less savoury. We were deep in our cups most of the time, and we spent time at the brothel, because if you pay a whore enough, you can do whatever you want with her. I always understood Ramsay's dissatisfaction with hunting – that feeling that it was never _enough_. Because that is what I felt when I bedded the whores."

"This went on for many years. Even after I married Beatrice, my first wife. Our marriage was short-lived – she died two years later. And not long after that, Jorran told me he had met a girl, a barmaid at the inn. He never offered to share her like we had shared whores in the past, so I knew it must be serious. So one night when Jorran was on duty, because by this time I had convinced my father to make him a guardsman, I went to that inn, and I sat and drank and charmed that barmaid until she agreed to come up to a room with me. I had asked her if she was married, if she had a sweetheart, and she kept saying no. So I paid for a room and took her there, and as I was taking her, I wrapped my hands around her neck, as I had many times with the whores, always letting go in time for them to breathe. I do not know whether it was too much drink, my anger that she would betray Jorran, or if I was chasing that greater thrill, but it went too far that night and I strangled her. I left her in the room, and went downstairs and paid a man to summon Jorran. When Jorran arrived, I took him to the room, and one look told him exactly what happened – he had shared women with me in the brothels and knew of my… _urges_. I handed him my sword and knelt before him. I begged him to take my head. I told him to take my head, and my gold and get as far south as possible. He told me he would take my head if I ordered him to, because I was his lord, but that he wouldn't be doing it because he wanted to. He sent me back to the keep, and he took care of the body, paid off whoever he needed to and we never spoke about it again."

"I married again shortly after that – Bethany. I only visited her rooms when necessary, keeping our relations as cold and distant as possible. I became Lord of the Dreadfort during that time as well, after my father died in battle. I still spent much time deep in my cups those days, drunk every evening and winesick every morning. My blood must have been riding very high. And I was no longer frequenting the brothels. So when I was out collecting on unpaid taxes that day I saw Ramsay's mother at the mill, I saw her and had to have her. It was convenient that she and the miller had married without notifying me, because it gave me a reason to hang the miller. I thought it would be the ultimate thrill, taking her beneath his dying body, but that's what I thought _every_ time I took a woman – that it would finally be the time that I felt satisfied. That it would be _enough._ But it wasn't. I felt just as empty and bored and dissatisfied afterward as ever."

"News of the miller's hanging and his wife's rape eventually reached my mother, who was bedridden and close to death at that point. I remember sitting by her bed, and her telling me I was finally a Bolton, _like father like son_. I never knew if she was happy about that or devastated."

"After she died, I sent Maester Tybald back to Old Town, with instructions to scour that library for some cure or treatment for the rising blood. And I locked myself in my rooms and ordered Jorran to keep me there until all the wine and drink was out of my blood and I no longer raged for it. Maester Tybald returned several moons later with the idea of leeching to remove the bad blood."

Roose looked up at Meryll then. She sat, fists clenched, silent tears streaming down her face. "You are frightened of me now," he observed. Meryll shook her head.

"You should be," Roose said in a low tone. Meryll shook her head again.

"Why aren't you?"

Meryll made no move to wipe the tears away or to stop the flow. She wanted this man to have all the tears that he could not shed, and would not ever shed. "I think it is a far greater accomplishment to be brought up knowing nothing but cruelty, and having the power to be as cruel as you desire, and make the decision not to be, than it is to be brought up kind and gentle and stay that way," she said.

"Then you are a fool, Meryll," Roose said angrily. "And you are a fool not to fear me. How often do you think I go to the baths for leeching?"

"Once a day?"

Roose stood up and paced in front of the fire. "Yes, once a day. Sometimes twice. Before you came to the Dreadfort, it was maybe once every fortnight or even only once in a moon cycle."

Meryll cried harder. She stood and reached for Roose but he stepped away.

"Roose, don't you see why you and Ramsay kept chasing that greater thrill? It's because you're so desperate to _feel_ something. But you stopped feeling anything long ago." Meryll reached for Roose's hands again. "You did what you had to do."

Roose let her take his hands and he yanked her close and kissed her furiously and violently, lips smashed against hers, possessing her mouth in ruthless abandon. He pulled away suddenly and stepped back. "I won't take you again, Meryll, neither of us will enjoy it if I do."

Meryll gave him a small smile through her tears. "Then don't. Let's eat, and then you'll hold me and we'll go to sleep."

And that's what they did.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are a fan of Jorran, check out this new companion piece entitled "[Happy Yule, Jorran!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7662307)".

Meryll woke in the middle of the night, cold, because Roose had left the makeshift bed of cloaks. He sat in front of the fire, deep in thought. His face was in profile to her, the dancing flames creating flickering shadows that distorted the features of his face; one moment his eyes soft and vulnerable and the next cold and impenetrable.

“Go back to sleep, Meryll,” Roose said, without turning around.

There was a crack in the armour that he wore to close himself off from the world around him, and Meryll knew if she did or said the wrong thing, he’d seal her out forever. But she also thought if she was very careful, she could wedge that crack open a little further.

“Tell me about your wives,” Meryll said.

Roose turned his head. “Meryll, most women don’t want to hear about their husband’s past affairs.”

Meryll avoided the obvious response to that statement. “Why should it bother me?” she asked. “You didn’t know me then.”

“That’s very sensible of you, Meryll,” Roose said, a hint of a smile on his face. He looked into the flames again. “Very well, as you wish. My first wife, Beatrice, was of House Manderly, a cousin of Lord Wyman Manderly. A convenient alliance for my father, giving him guaranteed access to the harbour. Pretty girl, Beatrice. Pretty enough that she already had a lover, a young man with no lands or titles. She cried every time I visited her bedchambers and ran away three times over the two years we were married. The third time, my father’s men tracked her down in White Harbour, holed away with her lover. They dragged them back to the Dreadfort and my father had the lover hanged and Beatrice whipped. The next morning, Beatrice was found hanging alongside her lover. She had taken her own life sometime during the night.”

Roose glanced back at Meryll. “I hope you weren’t expecting tales of romance and adventure.”

Meryll scoffed. “From Roose Bolton, Lord of the Dreadfort? Not likely.”

Roose continued. “My father chose a plainer bride for my second wife. Bethany was the oldest daughter of Lord Ryswell. I married Bethany at the height of my drinking and whoring, most of which were fairly well-known in the North. Unsurprisingly, Bethany was not thrilled with our match, though she never said as much. She hardly said anything at all, come to think of it. She gave me three sons, all dead in their first year, before giving birth to Domeric. I sent Domeric away to Barrowton to serve as a page and then to the Vale as a squire. Bethany never forgave me for that. I thought it better for him to spend his formative years away from the Dreadfort, but my decision would later doom him. His quiet and trusting nature made him easy fodder for Ramsay. After Domeric’s death, Bethany, always sickly, was heartbroken and came down with a fever and never recovered, although I believe she simply lost her will to live.”

Meryll noted that Roose recited these tragic events as if he were reading from one of the reports sent from his scouts. Merely facts and nothing personal.

“And then you married my sister.” Meryll said. “She was the first bride you chose for yourself. Was it really just for the silver?”

“Wars are expensive, Meryll.” Roose said. “But I became oddly fond of Walda. My first wife cried in bed and the second made not a sound, so I found Walda’s shrieks and squeals quite endearing. She certainly seemed to enjoy herself.”

Meryll fought back a twinge of jealousy. “And you? Did you enjoy yourself?”

Roose turned to face her. “Ah, Meryll, you’re jealous,” he observed, not without amusement.

Meryll rolled over, facing away from Roose, embarrassed. “Well, you don’t have to be so damned pleased about it,” she mumbled.

Roose crawled back under the cloak with Meryll and pulled her back against his chest. “It was no great hardship bedding your sister, but rest assured, I have lain with you more times in our short time of marriage than I did in a year with Walda. After she was with child, I saw no point in continuing my visits to her bedchamber.”

Satisfied with that, Meryll burrowed into Roose’s warmth and pulled the cloak up under her chin, and let herself drift off.

Roose was quiet on the ride back to the Dreadfort the next day, causing Meryll to worry that he was withdrawing from her after sharing so much. Meryll thought she would distract him from his brooding by wiggling a bit in the saddle, making sure to rub her backside against Roose’s growing arousal. It was his own fault for making her share a horse with him, she reasoned. He tolerated this for a time and then unbuckled her leather jerkin and slid his hands under her tunic around to the front of her waist.

“Why, Meryll, you’ve left your breeches unlaced,” he said, slipping his hand down the front.

“Some brute tore the laces yesterday,” she said.

“Mmm. How convenient,” Roose murmured. “I should thank the brute.” He cupped her mound with his hand, middle finger lying agonizingly still atop the slit to her opening. Meryll squirmed, hoping to create some friction, but a sharp pinch to her thigh from Roose’s other hand convinced her to sit still.

They weren’t that far away from the Dreadfort but Meryll was realizing it was going to be very long journey. She tried several times to start a conversation to distract herself but Roose made it clear he wasn’t feeling talkative. He didn't move his hand or fingers even a quarter of an inch the entire ride. By the time they reached the Dreadfort, the juices of Meryll's arousal had dampened her thighs and surely Roose’s fingers as well.

As they neared the gate, Meryll thought Roose would remove his hand from her breeches, but instead, he reached down and flipped her cloak up to cover her lap. The gatesmen announced their arrival and as they rode through the gate, Roose slid two slick fingers inside her. Meryll gasped and couldn’t help but jerk her hips a bit, wanting desperately to ride his fingers.

Knowing exactly what she needed, Roose pumped his fingers in and out of her opening. Meryll leaned her head back against his shoulder and closed her eyes, drinking in the sensations. Then the horse stopped and Roose proceeded to have a long conversation with Kenrick, the master of horse. Meryll had no idea what they were talking about, but she was sure she was blushing from her head to the very tips of her toes.

Jorran sauntered over, looking curiously at Meryll. “My lord,” he interrupted Roose. “There are letters waiting for you in your council room.” At that news, Roose removed his hand and dismounted the horse, leaving Meryll feeling bereft, empty and extremely wanton by herself on the horse. Without any word of farewell, Roose was walking quickly toward the keep. Meryll swallowed her outrage, wondering if he was running from her, punishing her, or if he actually had to read the missives right that second.

Grinning, Jorran offered Meryll a hand down from the horse. She ignored it and dismounted, pulling her tunic down to cover the top of her unlaced breeches.

Later, lying in the baths, Meryll considered relieving her own needs, but found that her anger at Roose had tempered her desire. Besides, she thought, _Roose would disapprove._ Her suspicions were proven correct when she went upstairs to the study and found a note waiting for her.

_I am sure you need no reminder that your pleasure belongs to me and me alone. I’ll join you for supper._

_R_

Meryll spent the rest of the afternoon in Maester Tybald’s chambers reading and mixing oils. It was a welcome distraction but her thoughts inevitably returned to Roose and everything he had shared with her. She knew in her heart that he would pull away from her after his intimate confessional, and was convinced that he was once again avoiding her.

It didn’t help that Roose wasn’t in the Great Hall for supper. Meryll sulked and picked at her food while Jorran and the other guardsmen tried to cheer her up. When she stood to leave, Jorran walked her to the double doors of the Great Hall. “Do I need to punch Roose in the face?” he asked her, teasing. Tears welled up in Meryll’s eyes and Jorran pulled her through the doors into the corridor.

Jorran embraced Meryll in a comforting hug. “Oh Meryll, don’t cry. It breaks my heart,” he murmured.

Meryll pulled out of Jorran’s arms. “Jorran, I’m a fool. I’m in love with a man who can never love me back.”

Jorran gave her a sad smile. “I’m sorry, kitten. I was afraid of that.” He took Meryll’s hand. “Come, I need to make my rounds but I’ll walk you back to the tower.”

When they reached the east tower, Jorran pulled Meryll into his arms again. “Can I give you some advice?” he asked. He didn’t wait for Meryll to respond. “I’ve known Roose for 40 years and I haven’t killed him yet, despite many opportunities. The secret is to never forget that he’s an arse. Be grateful and savour those times that he’s actually being half-decent, but don't get used to it, he'll be back to being an arse the second you forget that it's his natural state.” Jorran squeezed Meryll’s hands and became serious. “He likes you, kitten. No matter what he does to you, I can promise you that.”

After saying good-night to Jorran, Meryll sat in the study, reading. When she could no longer keep her eyes open, she rose to get ready for bed.

Meryll despised herself as she lay on the feather bed, naked and artfully posed, waiting for her lord to return. Not having experienced the typical upbringing of a young lady, she had up until now managed to avoid the tears and fretting that her sisters went through, lying in bed and wondering if some young man returned their affections. Meryll had always been thankful that she would never cry herself to sleep over a man. But that’s exactly what she did.

Meryll woke later to see Roose lighting the candles in the bedchamber. He had just finished lighting the second and was walking to the third when she interrupted him.

“What are you doing?” she asked, annoyed. _It must be the middle of the night_ , she thought.

Roose sat down on the bed and stroked her cheek. “I want to see you,” he said.

Meryll pushed his hand away and rolled over to face the other direction, pulling a fur over her head. “Well, maybe I don’t want to see _you_ ,” she said, feeling childish but not caring. How dare he ignore her all day and then show up in the middle of the night expecting her to be waiting for him.

Ired, Roose yanked the fur off her head. When he spoke, his voice was low and threatening. “Yesterday, I forced myself on you in the snow, but you’re angry because I left you wanton and needy today?”

Meryll burst into tears. Unmoved, Roose ripped away the rest of the furs from her, leaving her naked and sobbing on the bed. “Do you think a woman’s tears have ever stopped me from taking what I wanted?” he asked quietly.

Meryll flung herself over onto her back in an angry huff, splaying her limbs wide. “Take what you want then!” she cried. “I’m here for your pleasure, available for your every whim! I’m yours!” _And you are not mine._ She squeezed her eyes shut, expecting the worse. Would he beat her for her outburst? Or just take her by force again?

Roose was very still. Meryll held her breath as the seconds went by. She opened her eyes, and he was still sitting there. With only two candles lit, she couldn’t make out the expression on his face. When he finally moved, he bent over and touched his lips to her forehead in the softest kiss imaginable. Meryll closed her eyes, wanting to block his touch out, wanting to stay angry. Roose continued brushing his lips down her face in light, feathery kisses. Meryll let out the breath she had been holding in a long exhale.

Roose worked his way down her neck and shoulders, continuing his trail of soothing kisses, nibbles and licks. When he reached her breasts, he treated them with a sense of worship, rubbing his cheeks and chin over them, the scratchy hairs on his face scraping her sensitive nipples and causing them to peak. Meryll clenched her hands in fists at her sides, wanting desperately to touch him, but at the same time not wanting to reward him with any affection. Roose used his tongue to trace circles around her nipple before finally taking it into his mouth, laving the stiff tip until she let out a small whimper. Roose kissed his way across to her other breast, giving it the same devout treatment.

Meryll stopped trying to escape the desire she felt. How could she stay mad at him when he did such exquisite things with his tongue? Roose continued his fervent exploration of her body, pausing to scrape his teeth over her ribs and flick his tongue in her naval. Meryll sighed when he finally laid his hands on her, stroking her hips gently as his mouth moved downwards, kissing and nibbling the soft skin below her naval.   

When Meryll realized where he was heading, she squeezed her legs together, causing him to pause in his languorous journey and look up. “Meryll, spread your legs or I’ll tie them to the corners of the bed so you are spread open and available for me to take however I desire,” Roose said softly. Meryll’s core clutched at his words and she was mortified that she actually dampened even more. Roose tapped her thigh impatiently and Meryll spread her legs for him.

Roose’s head dipped down and he slid his tongue through her wet folds, first on one side of her sensitive bud and then on the other before flicking over that little bundle of nerves where she ached for his touch the most. His tongue stroked, first soft, and then more insistently in teasing little flicks as she squirmed and moaned.

“ _Roose_ ,” she breathed his name reverently, reaching down to thread her fingers through his hair.

Roose lifted his head. “What did you call me?”

“Lord Bolton,” she pleaded. ” _Please._ ”

Roose slid a finger between her slick folds, and inside her. “Mmm, I like 'please'. Please _what_?”

Meryll squirmed even more, her insides clenching around his finger. Everything down there throbbed, and she had never wanted to be taken so badly. “ _Please_ , my lord. _Please fuck me_.”

“How can I say no when you beg so prettily?” Roose murmured, moving on top of her and easing his breeches down. He pushed her legs up over his shoulders so she was bent nearly in two. She gasped when he entered her, the angle allowing him to fill her completely, deeper than what was comfortable. He thrusted slowly, letting her adjust to his size. Meryll felt herself pulsing around the intrusion of his cock and the discomfort turned to pleasure but it was overwhelming. The thick slide of him was incredible. With each thrust, her body shook with pleasure as the pressure inside her built, just riding the edge of her peak. Meryll wrapped her arms around Roose’s neck as if he could save her from drowning in the thick mire of sensations.

Roose changed the angle of his thrusts so that each exquisite slide into her body caused him to brush against her sensitive and swollen bud, pushing her over the edge, and turning her little whimpers into wails, echoing off the stone walls of the bedchamber. With her release, Roose gave into his own needs and increased his pace, grunting with each hard thrust until his cock jerked forcefully inside of her, shooting its hot seed.

Meryll watched Roose’s face as it contorted with the harsh pleasure of his release. In that moment, and just for that fleeting moment, he was hers. Spent, he laid his forehead against hers, heart pounding. After another moment, Roose took a slow breath and straightened up, and his cold mask slid back into place. He moved off of her and her legs fell heavily to the feather mattress, muscles limp.

Roose rolled Meryll onto her side and pulled her close into his body, burrowing his face into the crook of her neck. “Meryll, I will not tolerate your moping around the keep when I am too busy to see you. I am not some 20-year old boy lord with the stamina and time to waste an entire day in bed with his lady. I am 52 years old and the Warden of the North, and my hold on that title is very precarious and that is where I must devote my time. Starting tomorrow, you will spend your mornings training with the men in the yard. In the afternoon, you can help Galwin prepare for the arrival of Lady Barbrey, which I hear I have you to thank for.”

“Yes, my lord,” Meryll murmured. Roose didn’t speak anymore after that. Meryll lay awake, waiting for him to leave and go to the baths for a leeching as he usually did after they were intimate. She waited for so long that eventually his breathing steadied, and she realized he had fallen asleep.


	15. Chapter 15

Upon entering the study the next morning, Meryll found Roose at his desk, trying very hard to write a letter. His task was made all the more challenging with Ser Barri perched on the desk, batting at the quill. Roose made a few half-hearted swipes at the kitten, pushing him out of the way, but Ser Barri was persistent and kept returning.

“Meryll, come fetch your cat,” Roose said without looking up. Meryll smiled and rescued Roose from Ser Barri’s antics. Holding the kitten, Meryll sat down on the desk.

“I didn’t mean you should take his place pestering me,” Roose said, looking up.

Meryll gasped at the sight of Roose’s face. He was sporting a painful looking bruise on his right cheekbone, the skin puffy and swollen in a spectacular shade of purple. It must have been too dark in the bedchamber the night before for Meryll to have seen it.

“Jorran doesn’t like it when you cry,” Roose said wryly.

“I thought he was joking when he offered to punch you in the face,” Meryll said, gently touching Roose’s face. “Did you put ice on it last night?”

“I was otherwise occupied last night, Meryll,” Roose said, removing her hand from his face. “I will be travelling to the Karhold today to meet with Lord Arnolf, returning the day after tomorrow. You have plenty of tasks to keep you busy here at the Dreadfort; no time for moping.” He pulled Meryll into his lap and kissed her, tongue delving into the depths of her mouth in such a way that she was reminded what he had done with his tongue the evening prior. When Meryll rocked her hips in Roose’s lap, he pulled away. “You better get down to the Great Hall for breakfast or you’ll be late for training,” he said, setting her on her feet.

Jorran was already eating when Meryll sat down for breakfast. He glanced around to make sure no one was within hearing distance before speaking. “I’m sorry, Meryll, I should have never let Roose take you hunting without me,” Jorran said. “Did he treat you well last night at least?”

Meryll blushed a deep shade of red. Jorran grinned. “I’m going to take that response as a yes,” he said. A wave of desire passed through Meryll’s body, so strong she swore she could feel it in her teeth. _Gods, what Roose could do with his tongue, and lips, and hands, and- wait, what did Jorran say about hunting? He knew?_

Meryll tried to imagine Jorran and Roose gossiping about their day the way she used to do with her sisters. It didn't seem a likely scenario. Then she pictured Roose telling Jorran about taking Meryll against her will, speaking in the same detached manner that he had told her about strangling the barmaid or the deaths of his wives and children. 

Jorran was watching her face carefully. “Have you forgiven him?” he asked.

Meryll smiled sadly. “I forgave him while it was still happening.” Not wanting to talk of it anymore, she piled her plate high with eggs, sausages and biscuits as Jorran watched.

“You might want to eat a bit lighter if you’re joining the new recruits for training,” he said.

“Why?” Meryll asked, mouth full.

“I’m leading the training session this morning,” Jorran said with a grin.

An hour later, Meryll was throwing up behind the stables. Twenty bloody laps around the yard, and that was just to _warm up_. Then ten lengths of the yard lunging with sacks of grain over their shoulders. One hundred squats still holding the sacks of grain. After that, unarmed combat drills. Meryll was so overheated after the training session that she finally found a use for the cold pool in the baths.

After midday, Meryll met with Galwin to discuss Lady Barbrey’s visit. “Lady Barbrey will be travelling with her brothers, Roger and Rickard, her Master-at-Arms, Ser Beron, and 200 men who will join Lord Bolton when he marches to Winterfell.” Galwin informed Meryll. “There is plenty of room in the barracks with most of Lord Bolton’s men already at Winterfell. We can put Lady Barbrey and her brothers in the northeast tower, although it will take a few days to prepare the rooms after they have been so long vacant. There is also the west tower, where the Lady Bethany used to have her chambers, but since Lord Bolton has been using those rooms of late, I thought the northeast tower would be better.”

“Of course, whatever you think is best, Galwin,” Meryll murmured. That solved the mystery of where Roose was sleeping the nights he didn’t return to his private chambers.

After the second day of training, Meryll’s muscles were so stiff and sore that she had a complete understanding of how her Lord grandfather felt upon waking up in the morning. She could barely walk but somehow made it through the day, albeit slowly and with much teasing from Jorran.

By her third day of training with the recruits, Meryll no longer felt the debilitating muscle soreness of the first two days. Her renewed energy was enough incentive to track down her husband after she learned from the servants that he had returned early in the afternoon but hadn’t bothered to find her. After finishing supper, Meryll waited in the corridor until she saw a servant walking towards the council chambers with a tray of food. Meryll quickly intercepted the servant. “I will deliver Lord Bolton’s supper this evening.”

The servant curtsied and handed over the tray. “Yes, my lady.”

Meryll knocked on the council chamber door and entered without waiting for a response. Roose was leaning over the map table, looking exhausted. He glanced up. “Meryll. You can leave the tray on the table.”

Meryll dropped the tray on the table from a distance high enough to create a satisfying crash as the dishes were jolted from the impact. Meryll was so tired of scrutinizing Roose’s every facial expression, nuance in tone and choice of words for clues to his mood that she was pleased when he gave her a particularly withering look.

“You are avoiding me again,” Meryll said.

Roose straightened, annoyed. “I am not avoiding you, I am _working._ ”

“And will you be _working_ overnight in the west tower?” Meryll asked in a heated tone.

Roose ran his hands through his hair in frustration. “Meryll, I do not have time for distractions right now. I need to prepare for the upcoming war council meetings with my bannermen. Once they are here, I will be focused on gauging their loyalties and motives, so I need this time now to familiarize myself with Stannis’ armies and where the supply lines are.”

Meryll wondered why Roose was doing this all on his own. Wasn’t this something he would discuss with advisers? With a sinking feeling, Meryll realized that Roose would have discussed such matters with Ramsay. “May I be of any assistance?” she asked. “I don’t understand all the details, but perhaps it would help you to talk through it out loud.”

“You are a distraction I cannot abide, Meryll,” Roose said, gaze trailing down her body. “Discussing military strategy is fairly far down on the list of things I’d like to do with you.”

Meryll had a mischievous gleam in her eyes. “In the time that we’ve been standing here talking, we could have already had a quick romp.” Roose considered Meryll’s words in silence for an uncomfortable length of time.

“I was under the impression that you enjoyed _lengthier_ encounters, Meryll,” Roose said carefully.

“And I was under the impression that it didn’t matter what I enjoyed,” Meryll replied. As the words left her mouth, Meryll realized she hadn't _completely_ forgiven him. She watched as a combination of surprise, anger and wariness crossed Roose’s face before he reined in his emotions and became the stone-faced Roose that she was accustomed to.

“Let me finish up here, Meryll. I will join you in our chambers this evening,” he said, already leaning over the map again.

The next morning, Meryll found herself alone, but the furs were disturbed, so Roose must have come to bed after she had already fallen asleep. Meryll padded barefoot into the study to see Roose working at his desk. There was a knock on the door, and a page entered with a message.

“My lord, a raven from Winterfell,” the page said, handing Roose the tightly rolled message.

Roose yanked the message out of the young boy’s hand and tore it open. Reading quickly, he swore and stormed out of the study. “Roose!” Meryll called after him but he has already halfway down the stairs.

Sighing, Meryll dressed and headed down to the yard for training.

Later in the morning, when Meryll came upstairs after her bath, she found Roose back at his desk, looking preoccupied. Thinking he would just dismiss her if she bothered him, Meryll slipped quietly into the bedchamber, but Roose called for her to come back. She threw on one of his tunics and entered the study, taking her usual perch on his desk.

“Have you been writing letters home to your lord grandfather?” he asked.

Meryll paused at the odd question. “Just the one. Wishing him yuletide greetings.”

Roose cocked his head to one side, considering. “And what did you write in this letter?”

“Just as I said. Yuletide greetings. I told him of the decorations in the Dreadfort, the spell of cold weather we’ve been having, and that you had gone hunting for pheasants the day before.”

Roose’s face was unreadable. Meryll thought he looked entirely too serious. He had been working long hours and sleeping little.

“Well, I _thought_ I wrote to him about pheasant hunting, but you know, I have this terrible habit of forgetting the ‘h’ in pheasant. I do hope I didn’t make that mistake again,” Meryll said, looking at Roose wide-eyed.

Roose’s face went still. “Meryll, you did _not._ ”

“I certainly _hope_ I didn’t,” Meryll said innocently.

Roose paled. “Tell me you did not send Lord Frey a letter saying I was hunting _peasants_ the day before Yule.” 

Meryll burst into giggles. "I didn't!"

“Meryll, that is _not_ funny.”

Meryll laughed. “It’s a _little_ bit funny.” Roose stood and yanked Meryll off the desk, throwing her over his shoulder.

“I should punish you for your terrible sense of humour,” he growled.

Meryll brightened at the suggestion. “Yes, I agree. I should be punished.”

“Meryll, it takes away from my enjoyment of punishing you when you ask for it so eagerly,” Roose said, carrying her into the bedchamber.

“I’m sorry, my lord,” Meryll said, not very sorry at all. She arranged her face in a suitably terrified expression. “Please no, my lord! Don’t punish me! Please don’t spank my naughty ass!” she yelled, laughing as Roose threw her on to the feather bed.

His face held a look of mirth, not wrath, as he unlaced his breeches and crawled onto the bed.

“No, my lord, not your cock! Please don’t punish me with your massive co-“

Meryll’s laughter was suddenly cut short. It was hard to laugh with a massive cock in her mouth, but she could still smile.

* * *

“What was the news from Winterfell this morning?” Meryll asked afterward, watching Roose lace up his breeches.

“The raid on Stannis’ camp was a disaster. The camp was well-prepared for a night raid and the men on watch sounded an alarm before my assault force could do any real damage,” he said, pulling his tunic and jerkin down.

“I’m sorry, Roose,” Meryll said. “How many men did you lose?”

Roose sat on the edge of the bed. “Ten of the twenty didn’t make it back to Winterfell.”

“So what now?” Meryll asked.

“I’m not sure,” Roose said, brows drawing together. “Stannis will take Deepwood Motte soon enough. I just hope the Ironborn put up a fight and don’t surrender. Once Lady Barbrey gets here, I will hold council with my bannermen who are not already at Winterfell. We should have news from the Motte by then.”

Roose paused before leaving the bedchamber. “When will Lady Barbrey and her party arrive?”

“We can expect them tomorrow afternoon,” Meryll answered. She rose to dress and find Galwin to finalize all the details.

From the pile of furs strewn on the floor of the bedchamber the next morning, Meryll surmised that Roose had once again come to bed after she was already asleep, and left before she woke. Meryll dressed and went down to the training yard, having learned that it was better to have a late breakfast after training, especially when Jorran was in charge.

After finishing up her last lap around the yard, Meryll sat on the ground, lungs burning. Still, she didn’t throw up this time, so she was already showing progress. After catching her breath, Meryll noticed the loud ring of metal against metal coming from across the yard. Pushing herself to standing, she walked toward the sound. Jorran didn’t usually let the recruits train with weapons, saying they had to master the art of movement first.

Meryll saw a crowd had gathered around two fighters. Finding a gap between two other recruits, Meryll recognized one of the fighters as Roose. She couldn’t take her eyes off of him – the swings of his sword were powerful but also calculated. Not a single movement was wasted. Every motion had a purpose and never used more energy than what was necessary. In comparison, his combatant swung wildly and fiercely, charging toward any opening in Roose’s defenses. Roose’s smooth parries and graceful dodges disarmed his opponent in no time at all.

Once Roose stopped moving and Meryll was able to look away, she saw that his opponent was Steelshanks. Meryll knew from listening to the guardsmen talk that Steelshanks was well-respected in the battlefield. It made her see Roose with new respect. In the time she had known him, he had been fighting his battles from behind a desk. She could now imagine what a force he would be on the field.    

Jorran yelled at the recruits to get back to their warm-ups. Meryll turned to get started on her lunges across the length of the yard.

“Meryll, come have a go at me.” It was Roose. He hadn’t even broken a sweat sparring with Steelshanks but had a slightly wild look in his eyes from the excitement.

Jorran overheard. “ _Unarmed,_ ” he ordered.

Roose sheathed his sword and beckoned Meryll forward with a flick of his fingers. Meryll approached him warily, hands up, ready to block as Jorran had trained her. Roose took a few swings at her, testing her responses. She was able to duck or sidestep to dodge the first couple, but the third came too quick and she was forced to block it with her forearms, grunting at the impact of his blow. Meryll threw two quick jabs in Roose’s direction which he easily avoided.

“Your punches are too slow, Meryll,” Roose observed. “But your technique is good. Jorran trained you well.” They exchanged swings a few more times before Roose slapped her on the side of the head lightly to show her that she had left a gap in her defenses. They kept going and once again Roose took advantage of the same gap. The third time he found it, Meryll was able to ascertain what she was doing wrong. Roose’s swings started to come quicker and Meryll found more and more she was blocking instead of dodging, her forearms numb from the pounding. Meryll purposefully left the hole in her defenses that Roose had exploited before, and when he moved to slap her head again, she ducked low and came at him from underneath, getting inside his defenses.

Grinning, Meryll executed the maneuver Jorran had gone over and over with her, using Roose’s centre of balance against him. She hooked a foot behind his knee, and when he stepped back to keep from falling forward, she threw all her weight in the same direction, using his own momentum to push him to the ground. She nearly cheered out loud when she fell, grabbing both his wrists and pinning them to the ground. It seemed too easy though…

Roose smiled devilishly. “I should let you be on top more often,” he said, and pushed his hips up into hers. Taking advantage of the distracting little jolt of pleasure that coursed through Meryll’s body, Roose neatly flipped her over onto her back, and Meryll found their positions reversed. Roose pushed his body against hers enough to show her that he was quite happy with the arrangement and leaned in to kiss her.

“Roose, we’re in the middle of the training yard!” Meryll hissed, turning her head aside.

“I thought you _liked_ an audience, Meryll,” Roose teased, giving her one more delicious grind of his hips before standing and pulling her up. “I think we should retire to my chambers.”

Meryll agreed and followed him toward the east tower. They made it as far as the armoury. Roose pushed the door open and shoved Meryll inside.

“Out!” Roose growled to two very frightened looking recruits. They had barely closed the door behind them before Roose had Merryl’s back against said door. Panting, she wrapped a leg around him, allowing him to grab her legs and pull her up against him, pinning her between his lean body and the door. He kissed her savagely, taking possession of her mouth with his lips, tongue and teeth. Roose’s hands were sliding down her thighs when he suddenly pulled back, looking down in dismay at her breeches.

“This is inconvenient,” he murmured, drawing a daggar. Meryll was about to protest when there was a sharp knock on the door.

“My scouts report that Lady Barbrey will be here shortly.” It was Jorran.

Roose exhaled heavily, setting Meryll back on her feet. “You better thank Jorran for saving your breeches,” he said, slipping his daggar back inside his jerkin.

“It seems my breeches are always in peril when you’re around,” Meryll said dryly.

Roose gave her a once-over as he opened the armoury door. “Hurry and change into something more appropriate and meet me by the gates to welcome Lady Barbrey.”

Meryll jogged back to the east tower, ignoring Jorran’s teasing grin when she passed. She reached the study to find Anna folding clothes and placing them in the heavy trunks against the wall.

“Anna! How is it that you’re always here when I need you?” Meryll said breathlessly.

Anna smiled. “It’s my job, my lady. Although, Lord Bolton doesn’t like me to be in his chambers when he is here with his lady wife and he spends more time with you than any of his past wives, so this is the easiest job I’ve ever had.”

Meryll felt bad about being annoyed that Roose didn’t spend more time with her, but only a little bit bad.

“Quite a feat, my lady, to get Lord Bolton’s cold heart a-pumping,” Anna continued, winking at Meryll. “Now, what can I do for you?”

Meryll told Anna of Lady Barbrey’s imminent arrival and Anna went into Meryll’s wardrobe and immediately pulled out a deep burgundy gown in soft, felted wool. Instead of a lace-up back, the dress wrapped around Meryll’s body and tied at the back, creating a flattering v-shaped neckline. Anna added a wide, black lambskin belt stitched with a pattern of House Bolton’s sigil in shades of reds and pinks. Meryll’s hair was already back in a short braid, which Anna twisted and pinned into an elegant looking style.

“Beautiful, my lady,” Anna said, admiring her work for an instant before pushing Meryll out the door. “Off you go now!”

Meryll made her way down the stairs to greet Lady Barbrey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't seen it yet, check out this new companion piece entitled "[Happy Yule, Jorran!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7662307)".


	16. Chapter 16

Meryll could hear the gate lowering as she exited the inner keep. She ran through the yard and just barely made it to Roose’s side before Lady Barbrey’s party passed through the gate. Lady Barbrey rode in front, with two men close behind. Meryll assumed they were Lady Barbrey’s brothers, Roger and Rickard. The rest of the men waited outside the gate, and Jorran went out to greet them. Roose stepped forward to help Lady Barbrey down from her horse.

“My lady,” Roose greeted Lady Barbrey.

“Roose,” she replied, kissing his cheek. Lady Barbrey’s hair was as white as the steed she rode in on, but Meryll could tell it had been a beautiful flaxen blonde in her younger years. She was dressed in a black gown, adorned only with her cloak of vair. She was slim and tall, almost the same height as Roose, and Meryll couldn’t help thinking that the two of them made a handsome couple.

“It’s been too long,” Lady Barbrey was saying. “Let’s meet this new wife of yours.” Meryll stepped forward.

“My wife, Lady Meryll,” Roose said.

Meryll grasped Lady Barbrey’s hands. “I’m so pleased you were able to visit,” Meryll said, and sensing that Lady Barbrey was uncomfortable with the physical contact, Meryll held her hands a little longer.

Lady Barbrey gracefully but firmly removed her hands from Meryll’s grasp. “Lady Meryll. I’m sure I have you to thank for the invitation to the Dreadfort. Despite his regular letters to me, Roose has not once extended an invitation to visit since the passing of my Bethany. I’m sure he would have happily accepted my army without having to share my company.”

_Regular letters?_

Roose shifted. “You know you are always welcome here, Lady Barbrey,” he said smoothly.

“My lady, my lord,” Lady Barbrey chided. “Let’s do away with these formalities. I am Barbrey, you are Roose, and here are Roger and Rickard.” She gestured to the two men behind her, who stepped forward to greet Meryll and Roose.

Roger and Rickard could have been twins, they looked so alike, but Galwin had told Meryll that Roger was Rickard’s elder by three years. They both had thick, straight, honey blond hair cut short around the ears, and the same piercing blue eyes as their older sister.

Roose cut the pleasantries short. “I received some interesting messages this morning. I’d like to meet with the three of you in my council chamber immediately. Galwin, take the trunks to the northeast tower and see that the horses are taken care of.”

Meryll assumed she wasn’t one of the three that Roose wanted to meet with and silently fumed. Lady Barbrey took Meryll’s arm as they walked back to the inner keep. “Roose told me he found you at the Twins. What a pretty, young thing you are. And you do have that Frey fertile look to you – nice, wide birthing hips.”

Meryll forced a smile. “Why, thank you, Lady Barbrey.”

“Barbrey, my dear. Just Barbrey. And I will call you Meryll. We’re practically sisters now.”

“As you wish,” Meryll managed to say politely through her clenched jaw. Barbrey released her arm and hurried ahead to walk with Roose, taking his arm as she had Meryll’s. Meryll swallowed the rising feeling of jealousy as Roose, Barbrey and her brothers disappeared into the inner keep.

Meryll ended up spending what was left of the morning at Roose’s desk in the study, reading Aegon Targaryen’s Art of War. Perhaps she could become an expert in military strategy before they left for Winterfell? She was so absorbed in how to execute a Cantabrian Circle maneuver that she barely noticed when Jorran came in with her midday meal.

“Also, a letter for you from the Twins,” Jorran said, setting down the tray and handing her a roll of parchment. “Would you like some company while you eat or would you prefer to be alone?” It was a sweet gesture but it wasn’t Jorran’s attention that Meryll was craving.

“I’m sorry, Jorran, I’m not feeling very talkative today,” she said, unrolling the parchment. Jorran gave her a concerned look, but didn’t press the matter and left her to her letter.

Meryll glanced at the bottom of the letter to see that it was signed from her lord grandfather, but as she scanned the contents of the letter, she was surprised to see that it was written in the secret code that she used to communicate with her sisters. She started from the beginning, translating quickly.

_My dear Meryll,_

_Thank you for your absolutely worthless yuletide letter. The best piece of information you could share with me was that Stannis was marching from the North? I suspect that news had already reached Braavos by the time your letter reached me. I should have liked to read about Ramsay’s death directly from you, but I had to wait for Elmar to write to me instead. You are a terrible spy, Meryll, but as an assassin, you show promise._

Meryll blanched. She was glad she hadn’t asked Jorran to stay – the letter could be seen as proof of treason. Meryll stood and read the rest of the letter close to the hearth so she could quickly destroy it if anyone entered the study.

_Elmar tells me you spend your days moping around the Dreadfort and that Lord Bolton has little time for you. Perhaps you would have been happier married to one of those Karstarks._

_Just like Ned Stark, that stick in the mud, always said, winter is coming. But the sun still shines. It seems odd that it should now rise in the west and move east, and for good reason. You watch, Meryll. The sun will return to the west when the time is right._

_You better send me something useful soon,_

_Grandfather_

Meryll read the last paragraph again. Had old Lord Frey finally gone senile? She fed the letter to the fire and returned to the desk. Meryll picked at her food, stomach churning at the thought of how Roose would have reacted if he had seen the letter. She pushed the thought out of her mind and turned back to Art of War. Flipping the page, she started to read about the Scoot and Shoot maneuver. Maybe it was her bias, but the maneuvers involving archers were definitely the most interesting.

Meryll spent the rest of the afternoon reading, and was just reaching the final pages of Aegon Targaryen’s tome when she heard Roose’s voice outside the door. He entered mid-conversation with Lady Barbrey close behind.

Roose glanced up. “Meryll, will you excuse us? I don’t think our conversation will be of much interest to you.”

With a flash of annoyance, Meryll stood to argue, but to her surprise, Lady Barbrey came to her defense. “Let her stay, Roose. It wouldn’t be appropriate for us to be alone in your private chambers anyway.”  _Right._

Roose sat in his chair by the hearth and Lady Barbrey perched primly on the settee. Meryll walked over to join them and somehow suppressed her need to sit on Roose’s lap and hiss, “ _Mine!_ ” at Lady Barbrey. She joined Lady Barbrey on the settee.

“Has there been any news of the Stark children?” Barbrey asked.

Roose scowled. “Thankfully, only we know that the Greyjoy boy didn’t actually kill young Bran and Rickon, so as far as anyone is concerned, they are dead. And they may well be, alone in the wilderness this long. There have been whispers of Lord Tywin marrying the older girl, Sansa, but I don’t place much trust in rumours. The younger girl has not been seen since Eddard’s beheading.”

“And the bastard, Jon Snow? These northmen, they love their Starks, and if there is only a bastard left to love, they will.” Barbrey said scornfully.

Roose rolled his eyes. “The bastard boy has his father’s ridiculous notion of honour. Jon will never break his vows as Commander of the Night’s Watch. He is of no concern to me. The houses of the North are beginning to see that there are no more Starks to rally behind. I have received letters swearing fealty from House Cerwyn and House Tallhart.”

Barbrey narrowed her eyes. “Yet, half their men deserted and joined Stannis after you sacked Winterfell. And you don’t seem too upset about Arnolf Karstark declaring for Stannis. Why is that?” Meryll raised her eyebrows. Apparently, Roose’s visit to the Karhold hadn’t gone as planned.

Roose leaned back in his chair. “I ordered Lord Karstark to declare for Stannis. Arnolf and his men will make up the rearguard of Stannis’ army, and once they reach Winterfell, they will turn on Stannis. Stannis will be trapped between my men and Arnolf’s men.”

“A pincer attack,” Meryll commented. Roose looked at her in surprise. “I’ve been reading Art of War,” Meryll explained.

“But can you trust Arnolf?” Lady Barbrey asked, twisting her mouth into a scowl. “Scratch a Karstark and you’ll find a Stark.”

Roose smirked. “After the scratch the young wolf gave Lord Rickard Karstark, that may be somewhat less true than formerly.”

“That doesn’t necessarily mean they’ll be loyal to _you_ ,” Meryll said, frowning. Barbrey gave Meryll an assessing look.

A grim look came over Roose’s face. “Like most houses, they will be loyal to whoever benefits them the most, which is whoever has the strongest hold on the North. And that is still House Bolton.”

“Whoever _appears_ to have the strongest hold on the North,” Meryll corrected.

“What do you mean, Meryll?” Barbrey asked.

“Many of the Northern lords have sworn fealty to House Bolton,” Meryll explained, “but as you said, Lady Barbrey, there are men from those houses marching with Stannis at this very moment. The loyalties of all of those houses are suspect at this point.”

“Appearances are everything when it comes to politics,” Roose said. “As long as each house thinks the others are loyal to me, they will stay in line.”

“Still,” Barbrey said, brow furrowed, “I don’t trust the Karstarks. Not since that battle during the Skagosi invasion.”

“What happened?” Meryll asked, not familiar with the smaller battles in the North.

Barbrey started to speak but was interrupted by Roose. “Not this nonsense again, Barbrey.” Roose turned to Meryll. “My father was killed in that battle, slain by an arrow. Barbrey is convinced the arrow came from a Karstark archer and not a Skagosi.”

“In any case,” Barbrey continued, “the Dreadfort sits conveniently between Winterfell and Karhold. Convenient for Lord Karstark. Roose, when you march to Winterfell, my 200 men will garrison here to defend the keep.”

Roose frowned. “No, Barbrey, I will take your men to Winterfell and leave _my_ 200 men to garrison here.”

Barbrey narrowed her eyes. “You don’t trust me,” she said in a sharp tone.

“It has nothing to do with trust,” Roose assured Barbrey. “Meryll will command here in my absence and she has already won the respect of my men. I can’t guarantee that the army of another will follow her orders without knowing her.”

Barbrey eyed Meryll curiously but Meryll barely noticed. “I’m coming with you to Winterfell,” Meryll told Roose.

He glowered. “No, you are not _._ And the matter is not up for discussion.”

Barbrey stood. “I need to freshen up before supper,” she said. “We can discuss more when we meet with Roger and Rickard after supper.” She turned to Meryll. “Lady Bolton. It’s been a pleasure.” Meryll thought she detected a hint of respect in Barbrey’s voice.

After Lady Barbrey was gone, Meryll turned to Roose and tried to decide how to form her question. Roose gave her an annoyed look. “What is it, Meryll?” he said tersely.

 _Deadly, brooding and completely exasperating._ That was her husband. _Perhaps a light game of True or False?_

Meryll tilted her head. “When Lady Bethany was despondent, you sought solace in her sister’s arms.”

Roose scowled. “False! What would give you such a preposterous notion? And I’m not playing your silly game.”

 _Ah, but you just did,_ Meryll thought. “You seem _very_ comfortable with each other,” Meryll said, watching Roose’s face closely.

His expression did not change. “Lady Barbrey stayed here whenever Bethany was ill and bedridden, which was most of the time. Barbrey managed the keep for me during those times and I found her to be of great use.” Meryll narrowed her eyes.

“Meryll, we were never intimate,” Roose said firmly. Meryll studied his face for another moment. He _had_ said he would never lie to her. She decided he was being truthful.

“Hmmph,” Meryll grumbled. “If that was the case, it certainly wasn’t from a lack of desire on _her_ part.”

“You are being ridiculous, Meryll,” Roose said, standing. “I’m going down to the baths before supper.”

Meryll glared at his back as he walked away. “May I join you?” she asked, figuring it was worth a try.

“No.”

* * *

Roose was still down in the baths when Meryll left for supper. When she entered the Great Hall, she wasn’t overly surprised to see that Lady Barbrey was sitting in Meryll’s usual chair. As Meryll approached the table, Barbrey stood. “I’m sorry, Meryll, I completely forgot. I’m so used to sitting here after so many years standing in as the lady of the keep. I’ll move.”

Meryll held up a hand to stop Barbrey. “Please sit, Barbrey. I’m happy to sit with Jorran,” Meryll said, crossing to the opposite side of the table. Jorran stood and pulled out the chair for Meryll. “My lady,” he said, nodding. Meryll thanked him with a kiss on his cheek before sitting, and enjoyed the shocked look on Barbrey’s face.

Roose joined them just then. He frowned when he saw the seating arrangements, but didn’t mention it. Once Roose was seated, the servants brought out plates of food. 

Jorran nudged Meryll’s arm. “Look Meryll, your favourite, venison!”

Meryll sighed. “Again?”

Jorran smirked. “Perhaps if someone had chosen a smaller stag to shoot, we wouldn’t have to eat venison every day for a fortnight.”

Barbrey placed her hand on Roose’s arm. “Roose, you shot down a stag? You always were such a _wonderful_ hunter.” _Excuse me while I vomit,_ Meryll thought.

Roose smoothly extracted his arm. “Actually, it was Meryll that shot the stag. Single shot to the neck. She shot down a few pheasants as well.”

“Peasants,” Meryll whispered, giggling. Roose snorted.

Barbrey raised one neatly groomed eyebrow and Meryll smiled sweetly. “I’m sorry, Barbrey, it’s a rather silly private joke between Roose and I,” she said, sharing a meaningful glance with Roose.

Barbrey pursed her lips. “You should really have some girls your own age here for you to giggle with, Meryll. Then you won’t have to bother Roose with such trivialities. Perhaps Roger’s daughter, Rhianna?”

“Rhianna is 12 years old, Barbrey.” Roose said, frowning.

“Yes, I know,” Barbrey said. “How old are you, Meryll?”

Meryll’s fingers closed around her knife but before she could say anything, a servant stopped by to check on them.

“Please bring something else for Lady Bolton to eat,” Roose ordered the servant. Jorran took advantage of the distraction and plucked Meryll’s knife out of her hand before Roose or Barbrey noticed. Meryll gave him a murderous look.

Jorran, Barbrey and Roose ate in silence and Meryll sipped at her wine. After a time, the servant returned with a plate of steamed trout and mashed potatoes for Meryll.

Meryll was happily eating her trout when Barbrey turned to Roose. “I thought I would go down to the crypts tomorrow to pay my respects to Domeric and Bethany. Roose, will you come with me?”

Roose paused, considering the request.

“Jorran, give me my knife back!” Meryll whispered, reaching across his plate. Jorran picked up Meryll’s knife and his own and placed them out of her reach.

“You don’t need a knife to eat trout, kitten,” Jorran told her, eyes twinkling.

Roose finally responded, making an excuse about being too busy with war preparations but promising to visit the crypts at another time. Meryll sighed in relief. She wasn’t _quite_ ready to strangle Roose in his sleep. _In fact, maybe he deserved a reward…_

Meryll slipped her shoe off and slid her foot across the floor, searching for Roose’s leg. Finding it, Meryll smiled as Roose twitched in surprise but quickly reined in his reaction. His head was down, looking at his plate, but he slowly raised his gaze to meet Meryll’s. She hid her smile and worked her foot up between his legs.

Barbrey, showing her talent for interrupting carnal activities once again, chose that moment to speak. “Meryll, that’s a lovely dress you are wearing. Quite fashionable.”

Meryll had no idea what was considered fashionable in the world of women’s clothing. “Oh?” she asked, pausing her exploration of Roose’s crotch.

Lady Barbrey smiled. “Yes, I hear those wrap dresses are very popular with the Southron ladies right now. I believe the style is called _brothel chic._ ”

Meryll drained the rest of her wine and set the goblet on the table a bit harder than she had intended. Jorran looked at her in alarm and put his hand on her arm.

“The wonderful thing about these wrap dresses is that they are so easy to get in and out of,” Meryll said, pushing Jorran’s hand away. “Roose has been dreadfully busy lately so I thought it would save him some time if he didn’t have to unlace my dress every time he-“ Meryll paused delicately. “Well, Roose does have _quite_ an appetite.”

Jorran choked and reached for his wine, coughing. Barbrey gaped.

Meryll smiled and dug her fork into her food. “Gods,” she raved, “I just _love_ mashed potatoes!”

Roose stood, pushing Meryll’s foot out of his lap. “Let’s move our meeting to tomorrow morning, Barbrey. You’ll let Roger and Rickard know?”

Barbrey nodded, watching Roose in alarm as he walked around the table and gripped Meryll’s upper arm, pulling her up and dragging her out of the Great Hall.

Roose didn’t speak until they were halfway down the corridor. He spun around and spoke quietly, “Are you _quite_ done your little pissing match with Lady Barbrey?”

Meryll didn’t back away. “Did I win?” she asked.

“Your jealousy is _not_ attractive, Meryll,” he seethed.

“Your body seems to think otherwise,” Meryll said, giving the ridge in his breeches a meaningful look. Roose grabbed her by the arm again and continued pulling her down the corridor.

“The armoury?” she asked, breathless.

“Too far,” he snapped, yanking open the door to the east tower. He glanced up the winding stairs and then pushed open Jorran’s chamber door instead. He shoved Meryll toward the bed and kicked the door closed behind him.

Meryll looked around. “Gods, Jorran is a _slob_ ,” she said.

Roose came up behind her and pushed her forward onto the bed. “Don’t talk,” he said hoarsely in her ear. Meryll ended up on her hands and knees on the bed and Roose yanked her skirts up. _Apparently, he wasn’t listening when I explained to Barbrey the benefits of a wrap dress,_ Meryll thought. He quickly freed his cock and plunged roughly into her wet heat. Meryll groaned at the sudden intrusion, pushing her hips back to meet his thrusts.

The wet sounds of their skin slapping together filled the room and Meryll fought not to cry out any louder than she already was. Roose was grunting in her ear with each thrust and Meryll reveled at his complete loss of control in the frenzy of his quickly approaching release. His hand reached under her and explored between her legs roughly and rather artlessly but she pushed into his hand nonetheless, searching for her own release.

Meryll dropped down from her elbows, pushing her chest flat against the bed, and the new angle created almost unbearably exquisite sensations. Meryll moaned loudly. With Roose’s hand between her legs and his cock slamming into her, it felt like her little pearl of pleasure was being assaulted from all sides. She hung suspended on the precipice of her pleasure for an instant before Roose’s own violent release shoved her over the edge, and then she was floating in a pool of bliss, totally unaware of her surroundings.

She didn’t know how long she was in that state when Roose gently shook her and pulled her into his arms, straightening her skirts. “Meryll,” he said, concerned, “where did you go?”

Meryll smiled up at him dreamily, limbs limp and boneless. “I was in this place where only pleasure existed. The sky was full of pleasure, and ground was ripe with fields of pleasure. For breakfast, they served pleasure, and at midday, more pleasure, and then for supper...” she paused, catching her breath.

“Pleasure?” Roose asked dryly.

“No,” Meryll said, sighing with bliss. “ _Mashed potatoes._ ”

Roose chuckled softly and stood with Meryll still in his arms. He carried her out of Jorran’s room and up the winding stairs, through the study to their bedchamber. Roose kicked open the door to find Jorran sprawled out on the feather bed.

Jorran grinned. “Sorry, I thought we were trading bedchambers this evening. All right there, Meryll?”

Meryll tried to make some sort of reassuring sound because she didn’t think she could speak coherently quite yet.

“Out.” Roose growled and Jorran didn’t bother to hide his laughter as he left. Roose set Meryll down and removed her belt and undid the single tie that fastened her dress. He pulled the garment off her shoulders and guided her onto the bed before removing his doublet. He left his tunic and breeches on and climbed into bed beside her.

Meryll rolled toward Roose and plucked at the ties at the neck of his tunic. “Why is it that I am always naked and you are wearing all these clothes?”

Roose pushed her hand away. “Because that is how I like it,” he murmured, brushing a stray strand of hair off of her forehead. Meryll slid her hand under his tunic, gliding it smoothly over his bare skin. Roose closed his eyes and exhaled sharply. A moment later he opened his eyes and gripped her hand firmly and removed it from his tunic.

Meryll leaned closer, brushing her lips against his neck. “I want to touch you,” she whispered.

To Meryll’s disappointment, Roose edged away a few inches. “ _I_ will decide who touches who,” he said quietly. Meryll sat up and stared at Roose. Every time she thought she had broken through another layer of his defenses, he would put up stronger walls. She knew it was just him asserting his dominance over her, making sure he always had the upper hand. And perhaps his clothes were the last piece of defense that she had yet to strip away. “Why don’t you want me to see you naked?” she asked. Roose didn’t answer.

“You’re afraid I’ll think you’re fat,” Meryll said, starting off on a light note.

Roose sighed. “False, Meryll.”

“You’re hiding marks left behind from the leeches,” she said. _Plausible, but it probably wouldn’t bother him._

“False. I have no marks from the leeches,” Roose said, pressing his lips together in a thin line.

 _You’re scared to be vulnerable with me_.

Meryll couldn’t bring herself to say the words out loud. She needed to find a better way to say it so he didn’t completely shut her out. She thought of the words that were almost more well-known at the Dreadfort than the official house words.

“A naked man has few secrets, but a flayed man has none,” she whispered.

Roose’s expression hardened. “Very good, Meryll. I will keep as many secrets from you as I like,” he said, voice tight.

“Why, Roose?” Meryll asked pleadingly. “Do you not know by now that I am yours? Even with what you have already shared with me – it just made me care for you even more. And sometimes I even dare to believe that you might care for me as well.”

Roose rose from the bed. “Bloody hell, Meryll. You must have figured out by now that this marriage is not going to be some tale of love and romance; we’re not going to be _soulmates_ or  _best friends_. I need an heir and a lady of the keep. And in return, I will take care of you and treat you fairly. Do _not_ ask me for more than that.”

Roose stormed out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you BlueEyesBlueSkies and Jennilynn411 for providing inspiration for Barbrey's 'barbs' at the supper table :).


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short chapter from Lady Barbrey's POV.

Lady Barbrey climbed the last few steps of the west tower and pushed open the door to her sister’s former bedchamber. She halted in the doorway, and her breath hitched in her throat as an assault of memories washed over her. The rocking chair by the hearth where she sat and cradled her swaddled nephew, Domeric, while Bethany slept fitfully in the bed. The window where she spent days watching and waiting for Roose to return from the war of Greyjoy’s Rebellion, while Bethany lay burning with fever. And the bedside where she sat and prayed for a fortnight, while Bethany died.

Bethany’s chambers were exactly the same as Barbrey remembered them being two years prior. The west tower had always been dreary and lonely, with Bethany rarely leaving and Roose rarely visiting. And yet this new wife, Meryll of House _Frey_ , was tucked into bed in Roose’s private chambers. How very _curious._

Pushing away the unpleasant memories, Barbrey briskly entered the chambers and quickly had a fire going in the hearth. The warmth of the fire chased away the cold and foreboding feeling that weighed down on Barbrey, although she chastised herself for giving credence to such a thing. She slipped off her shoes and removed her cloak of vair, draping it over the back of the divan by the hearth before finally sitting. She tucked her feet up under her legs and leaned back into the divan, wilting a bit after a long day of maintaining her perfect, erect posture and graceful, ladylike carriage.

Barbrey sat up straight, startled, when the door burst open, banging against the wall.

“What are you doing here?” Roose asked, fierce and stern as ever.

Barbrey carefully schooled her features into her usual cool and detached expression. “I could ask you the same thing,” she said calmly.

Roose closed the door behind him and collapsed into the rocker chair. “I saw the lights in the window,” he explained, already losing some of his original bluster.

Barbrey studied Roose’s face. Losing two wives in as many years and chasing that stupid boy king through the Riverlands had a toll. There was a weariness in his eyes that Barbrey hadn’t recalled ever seeing before; the lines in his face deeper, and the set of his mouth grimmer. It made Barbrey uncomfortable simply because it reminded her of her own advancing years.

Barbrey sat up straighter on the divan, and surreptitiously let her feet fall to the floor, putting her shoes back on under the cover of her skirts. “I just wanted to see these rooms again,” she said, crossing her legs gracefully. “I wasn’t expecting to see you again until well after breakfast the way you dragged your pretty little wife out of the Great Hall.” Roose gave her a withering look but didn’t bother replying.

Nothing ever changed, Barbrey thought. How many times had she and Roose sat by the fire and carried on long conversations in their own unique way: Barbrey talking, and Roose responding through a silent series of dirty looks and grimaces? They had perfected this method of communication over the almost three decades they had known each other.

“I hope Meryll doesn’t hate me terribly,” Barbrey continued.

Roose shook his head. “Why do you bait her so, Barbrey? You are like a cat, toying with its catch before finally breaking the neck.”

“Oh Roose, please,” Barbrey chided. “You are the same. Life is just a game to us and the people are but our toys.”

Roose stared at the fire, brooding. After a time, Barbrey spoke. “She adores you,” she said quietly. “Bethany certainly couldn’t stand you – she once asked me why I didn’t hate you as she did. And if rumours are true, your first wife didn’t like you much either. So imagine my shock, meeting Meryll and seeing how she hangs on every word that leaves your mouth. Studies books on military maneuvers so she has something to talk to you about! But what _doesn’t_ shock me is the look of wariness on her face when she watches you – as if she isn’t sure if you are going to kiss her or slap her.”

Roose looked sharply at Barbrey, jaw clenched.

“So, just another toy for you, Roose.” Barbrey continued. “Or at least, that’s what I thought until our lovely little family gathering at supper.” She gave Roose a look of distaste. “The way you puffed up with pride when you told me of her shooting the stag. And then, that ridiculous _peasant_ remark, you-“

Roose snorted.

“That!” Barbrey exclaimed, pointing her finger at him. “ _That_ is the noise you made! You … you _laughed_.”

“That was _not_ a laugh,” Roose said, scowling.

Barbrey’s mouth twisted into a sardonic smile. “It’s the closest to laughter _I’ve_ ever heard from you.” Barbrey paused, her smile fading. “I always thought you let your guard down with me, but after seeing how you are with Meryll, you may as well have been wearing a suit of plate mail with me.”

Barbrey fought to keep the disdain off her face. “Roose, you are completely and utterly _smitten_.”

Roose’s expression hardened. “I am not a man to be undone, Barbrey.”

“No, perhaps not,” Barbrey conceded, giving him an assessing look. “But this woman, she has loosened your bindings.”

Roose bristled at the suggestion. “There is no place in my life for such things.”

Barbrey was thoughtful. “At one time, I would have agreed with that. That you had no feelings. That your precious leeches had sucked all the passions out of you years ago. But they weren’t gone, just pushed down and strangled into submission.”

“She is a distraction,” Roose bit out. “I am fighting a war here, Barbrey.”

“Then let her be _useful_ ,” Barbrey advised. “Meryll is politically astute and not afraid to tell you what you don’t want to hear. _Use_ that.”

“You want her to serve me as you once did,” Roose observed.

“Yes,” Barbrey said carefully. “In addition to the ways she is serving you that I _didn’t_.” Roose stared at her. Barbrey stared back. Barbrey let the silence carry on past awkwardness; too stubborn to be the first one to concede.

Roose finally broke the silence. “What did you tell Bethany when she asked you why you didn’t hate me?”

Barbrey let out a choked laugh. “I told her it was because you and I, we are the same.”

“All these years, Roose,” Barbrey said bitterly, “I thought _I_ would be the woman, the one that cracked you open and bared your soft insides. Bethany always said you were a cold fish in the bedchamber, but I had heard the stories, and I sensed the beast gliding under the still waters. I would have screamed for you, Roose. I would have screamed just as loud as those whores. But you would have screamed for me too, and you wouldn’t have liked it. Because you and I, we are too alike. Oh, the bloodstains we would have left behind had we ever shared a bed…” she shuddered. “But now I realize, it was never to be me. I could have never surrendered to you so sweetly as Meryll will,” Barbrey finished softly.

Roose furrowed his brow, and his eyes softened. “Why have you waited so long to tell me this, Barbrey?”

_Why, indeed?_

“Should I have seduced you while my sister lay dying?” Barbrey asked coldly. “Perhaps after you had married another? Or maybe I knew in my heart that it would sentence us both to a life of endless misery. But, I suppose it seemed safe enough to tell you now. Now that I know nothing will ever come of it.”

Barbrey was relieved when Roose didn’t bother to offer a token protest to her last statement. They sat in silence for some time, listening to the cracking of the fire. Finally, Roose stood. “Good night, Barbrey,” he said quietly, kissing her on the cheek.

After the door closed behind him, Barbrey touched her cheek where his lips had been. Her skin was still as cold as ever.


	18. Chapter 18

After Roose stormed out, Meryll lay in bed awake, cursing her big mouth and wondering if he would come back. She finally drifted off, sleeping fitfully and woke in the morning feeling as if she hadn’t slept at all. Meryll crawled out of bed, wrapping herself tight in her pilfered cloak.

Out in the study, she could see Roose’s feet hanging over the armrest of the settee. _Gods, had he really slept there the entire time he was wed to Walda?_ Meryll quietly walked around the settee, picked up the linen blanket that had been thrown on the floor and carefully tucked it around her sleeping husband.

Meryll was walking to the wardrobe to dress when Roose spoke. “Meryll, I’d like you to attend my council meeting this morning after your training.” Meryll felt a jolt of excitement at the invitation. After dressing in her leathers, she practically skipped down to the training yard.

Jorran finally let them use swords after the warm-up. He led the recruits through many drills and then set them loose to spar with each other. Meryll sparred with Jorran and was pleased that he didn’t beat her quite as quickly as the last time they sparred.

Meryll made it through the baths in record time and had Anna help her into a dress of midnight blue heavy winter silks. She knew Roose would notice the off-the-shoulder neckline, especially after Anna finished pinning her hair up. Meryll declined when Anna offered a fur stole but she accepted the flayed man brooch that she had worn during yuletide and pinned it over her left breast.

By the time Meryll entered the council chambers, she was the last to arrive. Roger and Rickard Ryswell sat on one end of the table and Ser Beron and Steelshanks, the masters-at-arms for House Dustin and House Bolton respectively, sat on the other side. Barbrey sat on one of the short ends of the table, Meryll took the chair at the opposite end. Roose was pacing, holding a letter in one hand.

“I received a raven from Mors Umber this morning,” Roose said. “He has bent the knee to Stannis, however, his brother, Hother, has not.” Roose turned to Meryll and explained. “They are joint castellans of Last Hearth while the Greatjon is captive at the Twins.”

“Are both brothers garrisoned at Last Hearth?” Roger asked.

“No,” Roose answered. “Mors and his men are at Deepwood Motte with Stannis. Stannis took the keep back from the Ironborn two days ago and is now gathering the mountain clans. Hother has been holding Last Hearth, however he arrived at the Dreadfort late last night. I will meet with him in the afternoon. Mors wrote to implore me to negotiate with Stannis. He suggests that I should swear fealty to Stannis, let him have Winterfell to launch his southern campaign, and in return I would keep my title as Warden of the North. An interesting idea, no?”

Meryll frowned. Although Roose had his usual impenetrable expression on his face, Meryll sensed he was quite on edge and fired up. She looked around the table. Roose’s advisors were quiet, and other than Barbrey, they all looked slightly uncomfortable.

“Lady Bolton disagrees,” Roose observed. Meryll squirmed. It was her first day. Couldn’t she just sit and listen?

“You may speak freely,” Roose said impatiently.

“This idea clearly came directly from Mors. There’s not a chance Stannis would be so stupid to consider such an agreement,” Meryll said.

“And why is that?” Roose pressed her.

“Stannis knows that if he takes Winterfell back and and either kills or takes you captive, he will have the undying loyalty of all the North,” Meryll said, swallowing hard. It was the truth, but not a pleasant truth.

Roose crossed his arms. “Thank you, Lady Bolton,” he said, glaring at his advisors. “Is Lady Bolton the only one at this table with any sense? I suspect not. You are here to advise me. You do me no purpose if you sit here too weak-kneed to say what you think for fear of displeasing me.”

Roger and Rickard stared at the table, while Ser Beron and Steelshanks exchanged glances. Lady Barbrey caught Meryll’s eye and gave her a small smile. By the time Meryll thought to react, Barbrey had already looked away.

“There is no escaping the battle ahead of us,” Roose concluded.

“Once you have crushed Stannis Baratheon, the loyalty of your bannermen will be secured,” Barbrey assured him.

Roose didn’t react. “Are there any other new issues?”

“Lord Bolton,” Steelshanks said, looking at the pile of parchment in front of him. “We are still receiving reports of infighting between the Freys and Manderleys stationed in Winterfell. At this rate, we will have a war in Winterfell before Stannis ever reaches the walls.”

“Why not send the Manderley forces after Stannis in the field?” Meryll asked. “They can assault Stannis’ army through raids and skirmishes, demoralizing the men before they reach Winterfell. It will get our forces out of Winterfell for a while, anyway.”

“That’s not a terrible idea,” Roose conceded.

“Faint praise, Lady Bolton,” Steelshanks whispered to Meryll.

“Anything else?” Roose asked.

Roger started talking about some new siege weapon he had heard about and Meryll could see Roose’s patience waning. Roose’s gaze landed on each of his advisors in turn, moving on to the next as if he found them all lacking.

Meryll tilted her head to one side, and then to the other, gently stretching her neck. Once she was sure she had Roose’s attention, she reached her hand back to give her neck a little rub, and closed her eyes for good measure. Meryll thought moaning out loud might be a little much. As it was, she could feel the heat of Roose’s gaze on her. She opened her eyes and blinked innocently at Roose. It said something about how preoccupied he was that he was just noticing her bare shoulders now.

Barbrey was observing this exchange with an odd expression on her face that Meryll could not decipher.

Roose interrupted Roger and ended the meeting. As Meryll was leaving the council chambers, Roose cut her off at the door. “Meryll, you must be starving. You wouldn’t have eaten breakfast. I’ll have something sent up to the study for us,” he said, taking her arm.

“No, my lord. I’d rather eat in the Great Hall so Steelshanks can fill me in on everything I’ve missed,” Meryll told Roose, pulling away from him. Annoyance flickered over his face but was gone as fast as it came.

“Of course, as you wish.”

Over the midday meal, Steelshanks showed Meryll the reports on Stannis Baratheon’s army, as well as estimates on how many men he would gain from the mountain clans and House Glover. Roose was able to answer her questions on the forces stationed at Winterfell. Barbrey added details on diplomacy and house relations.

“Meryll, I’d like you to sit with me in the audience chamber when I meet with Hother Umber,” Roose said as they were finishing up their meal. Barbrey opened her mouth to protest but then held her tongue. Meryll was almost disappointed that Barbrey was being so nice.

“Do you trust him?” Meryll asked.

“Roose doesn’t trust anyone,” Barbrey said wearily.

“It helps our cause that the rightful lord of Last Hearth, the Greatjon, is being held captive by your grandfather, Meryll,” Roose said. “But these Umbers; they may seem simple, but they are not without a certain low cunning.”

As Meryll and Roose made their way above the Great Hall to the audience chamber, Roose handed Meryll parchment, quill and ink. “I’d prefer you just listen at this meeting. If you have something to tell me, you can just write it on this parchment. If Hother asks, we’ll just tell him you are documenting our meeting.”

The audience chamber was not a large room. There was a raised dais on one end with a heavy wooden table, the Bolton high seat, and a less ornate chair beside it. Roose took his seat and motioned for Meryll to sit beside him.

Galwin escorted Lord Hother into the audience chamber. Hother ‘Whoresbane’ Umber was an old man, gaunt-faced, with a long white beard. He approached the dais and knelt. “I, Hother Umber, Castellan of House Umber of Last Hearth swear my fealty and my loyalty to the House Bolton to serve you with my honor. My sword is yours, in victory and defeat, this day until my last day. This, I swear by the old gods and the new.”

Roose did not stand to accept Hother’s oath. “You, Hother, are here swearing your fealty, while your brother, Mors, has just bent the knee to Stannis. What am I to do with that?”

Hother remained kneeling, which could not have been comfortable for a man of his age. “I can only speak for myself and my men at Last Hearth, Lord Bolton. I have no control over who my brother and his men swear fealty to.”

Roose stood. “Very well. I accept your vow.” Visibly relieved, Hother stood.

Roose asked Hother several questions about his force at Last Hearth. Meryll started scratching her quill on the parchment while they spoke. Once Roose had heard enough of Hother’s army, he glanced over to look at Meryll’s parchment. She had drawn a nude picture of Hother in caricature: a narrow head with drooping jowls, nose and ears sprouting prominent whiskers, a long white beard covering his man parts, and a big, round belly hanging over skinny legs with knobby knees.

Meryll received a very subtle version of the “Roose does not approve” look; so subtle, in fact, that Hother never noticed.

“One other thing, my lord,” Hother was saying. “Mors and I have sworn to each other that Umber will not fight Umber. I am hopeful that you will find some other way that my house can serve House Bolton.”

Meryll wrote across the top of the parchment:

_MOAT CAILIN_

“Fair enough, Lord Hother,” Roose said. “I have a small contingent of men holding Moat Cailin right now. Their numbers are suitable for defense, but I will need more men to restore the holdfast and reinforce the walls. I would be greatly pleased if you could send 100 men.” After Hother agreed, Roose dismissed him.

Roose stood and pocketed Meryll’s drawing of Hother. “Thank you, Meryll,” he said. “I’ll be in my study if you need anything.”

Meryll stared after him, confused. She missed the Roose that dragged her around the keep and kicked in doors and threw her on beds. He was being so _courteous_.

Meryll walked down to the yard. Several of the new recruits were practicing their archery skills. Meryll was able to give them tips to improve their shooting: small adjustments in stance or how they were holding the bow, how to use their breath in rhythm with the shot, and minute adjustments to the placement of their quiver. After she had spent time coaching each of the recruits, it was nearly supper time.

Jorran caught up with her on the way to the Great Hall. “How about tomorrow morning, you take half the recruits and work on archery skills while I work on sword and shield with the rest?”

Meryll hugged him. “I’d love to!”

At supper, Meryll spent time listening to Roger talk about his family. He had three daughters, Rhianna, Rina and Ruth, and the stories he told of them made Meryll ache for her sisters. “My Ruth wants nothing to do with dolls,” Roger told her. “She only wants to play with swords. I should send her to the Dreadfort for a visit – she’d be thrilled to meet you.”

Meryll beamed and put her hand on Roger’s. “Your girls would be welcome here any time. I would very much enjoy having other ladies here at the Dreadfort. Back at the Twins, I longed to have time away from my family, but now that my wish has been granted, I miss them terribly. It does get lonely here sometimes.”

“We’ll arrange a visit as soon as things calm down,” Roger promised her. Meryll released his hand. Roose had been watching her, but his expression was unreadable. He turned to say something to Ser Beron.

After supper, Roger and Rickard talked Meryll into playing a game of dice. They kept a tally of each player’s winnings on a piece of parchment, and when Roose stood to leave, he peered down at the markings under their names. “I hope you haven’t emptied my coffers, Meryll,” he commented.

“She’s won two of Roger’s prize hunting hounds!” Rickard said, laughing.

Roose trailed his fingers along the exposed skin of Meryll’s back and shoulders. “You’ll join me upstairs soon, my lady?” he asked.

“I won’t be much longer, my lord,” she promised. And she fully intended to go to bed soon after. But then they started drinking wine and betting bags of potatoes. After winning 200 pounds of potatoes for the Dreadfort, Meryll stumbled back to the east tower.

Roose was sound asleep already.

The thought of trying to get her dress off by herself in her inebriated state was just too much, so Meryll crawled into bed, dress and all, and promptly passed out.

Roose was gone when Meryll woke up the next morning, but Ser Barri was happily curled up on the bed beside her. Meryll briefly considered skipping Jorran’s training session due to her pounding headache but then remembered he had asked her to work with the recruits on archery skills.

Anna was waiting for Meryll in the study. “Rough night, my lady?” she asked, laughing as she loosened Meryll’s laces and helped her out of her gown. Apparently, nothing was secret at the Dreadfort. By the time Meryll made it down to the yard, all the recruits were aware that Lady Bolton had been up half the night drinking and dicing. They entertained themselves by talking in loud voices and coming up behind her and banging their swords on their shields.

After bathing, Meryll pulled out a new vial of oils that she had mixed in Maester Tybald’s alchemy lab. She had been experimenting with combining different scents and had found one she particularly enjoyed. Meryll applied a dab of oil to each of her pulse points, plus a few other spots for good measure. As she made her way back up the stairs to the study, she heard Roose enter the chambers. Meryll paused on the stairs and pulled her shift off and entered the study naked as her nameday.

She froze when she realized Roose wasn’t alone. Roose was sitting at his desk, talking quietly to Jorran. Meryll hesitated for only an instant before sauntering over to Roose’s desk.

Roose cocked his head to one side, giving her a once over. “My lady,” he greeted her.

“My lord,” she said, hopping on to the desk. Jorran grinned.

“Jorran was just telling me that you trained the recruits this morning,” Roose said, standing. He walked over to a trunk by the wall and retrieved one of his tunics.

“I’d like you to choose fifty of the most promising archers and train them exclusively,” Roose continued, placing the tunic over her head unceremoniously before sitting down again.

“Really?” Meryll asked, pulling the tunic on the rest of the way.

“Yes, really,” Roose said dryly. “If that’s settled, then you are both dismissed.”

After Jorran left, Meryll went to the wardrobe and pulled out a dress. She swapped the tunic with the dress and then paused. “My lord? Can you help me with my laces?”

Roose didn’t answer but she heard him push his chair back and walk toward her. Then his hands were tugging the laces, pulling the dress tight across her back. His movements stilled and he leaned in closer. “Are you wearing perfume?” he asked, sniffing.

“Yes, my lord. I made it myself,” she said.

Roose buried his nose between her neck and right shoulder. “What’s in it?” he asked.

“Fennel, lime and patchouli. And then I topped it off with Arbour Gold.”

“Northern ladies don’t wear perfume, Meryll. Only whores,” Roose said, his breath warm on her neck.

Meryll bit her lip to keep from smiling. “Should I go wash it off?”

“No.”

Roose moved to the other side of her neck, nuzzling her ear and inhaling deeply. “Where else did you apply this perfume?” he asked, loosening the laces he had just finished tightening and tugging the dress down.

Meryll’s mouth curved into a smile. “You’ll have to find out, my lord.”

All too short of a time later, Roose was back working at his desk, and Meryll was lying on the bed, unsatisfied but deliciously sore. She probably shouldn’t have told him that his sniffing made him sound like a truffle hog. He had promptly flipped her over, given her a sound spanking, and fucked her senseless. Still, she did love getting a reaction out of him.

Meryll heard a knock at the study door. She wrapped Roose’s cloak around her and left the bedchamber.

“Our supply lines were ambushed last night,” Jorran reported to Roose. Roose swore and stood from his chair.

“There is no way bandits just randomly stumbled on our supply transports,” Roose said. “How is this possible? I didn’t even send word to Winterfell to let them know I was sending supplies.”

Jorran knew Roose well enough to know he should just keep quiet while Roose worked through the problem himself.

Roose paced in front of the hearth, mind racing.

He turned back to Jorran. “I want the rookery monitored. Post only your most trusted men at the doors. No messages in or out without Tybald reviewing them first. And I will personally review any letters concerning military matters or anything else that Tybald deems suspicious.”

Jorran nodded and left.


	19. Chapter 19

Roose wasn’t at supper that evening. And he didn’t return to his private chambers either. Jorran told Meryll there was a staggering amount of letters for Roose to review and that she shouldn’t wait up. Meryll was still feeling the effects of too much wine the eve prior and went to bed early, leaving a few candles lit for Roose.

She woke up hours later when a very exhausted looking Roose climbed into bed, warm from the baths and smelling of the oils she had mixed for him. She turned toward him and tried to burrow into his side but he growled and told her to roll over. He pulled her back flush against his chest and buried his face into her neck and was asleep before she could suggest any carnal activities.

It seemed it wasn’t a night for sleep as they were both woken not long after that by Jorran. Roose got out of bed and spoke quietly with Jorran at the bedchamber door.

“What is happening?” Meryll asked.

“Go back to sleep, Meryll. I will take care of it,” Roose answered and he and Jorran left together.

Roose had still not returned when Meryll woke up at her usual time in the morning. Once again, Ser Barri had happily taken Roose’s spot in the bed.

Meryll enjoyed her time working with her fifty hand-picked archers in the yard. She had learned from Roose how to garner respect from her men, and was careful to give reward where it was due and to make sure her criticisms always had purpose and were never cruel.  

After bathing and dressing, Meryll found Jorran on duty outside her chamber door. “Where is Roose?” she asked. Jorran shifted his feet uncomfortably.

“He is meeting with his council,” Jorran finally said. The discomfort in his stance filled Meryll with suspicion.

“Why was I not invited?” Meryll asked.

“Meryll, promise me you won’t do anything stupid,” Jorran began.

“Just tell me, Jorran.”

Jorran frowned. “Your kinsmen, Elmar, tried to send a letter to the Twins without anyone noticing last night. The letter was for Lord Frey. Elmar spent the night in the dungeons. Now Meryll-“

But Meryll had already slipped past Jorran and was running down the stairs. When she approached the council chamber, the guard attempted to stop her entry, but she pushed past him and burst into the room.

“What will you do with Elmar?” she demanded.

Roose paused his pacing. “Lady Bolton,” he said wearily, “We were just discussing that. Why don’t you have a seat.” He gestured to an empty seat. Meryll glanced around the table. Roger, Rickard and Ser Beron looked extremely uncomfortable. Steelshanks was avoiding her eyes, but Barbrey was ever watchful.

“I will not sit down until you tell me what is going on,” Meryll said firmly.

Roose sighed. “Elmar was caught sending military secrets to your grandfather.”

“How would Elmar even know such things?” Meryll asked. “He is not privy to any of these decisions.”

“He’s been reading all the letters and making copies. I don’t know for how long.”

“So what now?” Meryll asked. She knew espionage was considered treason, but Elmar was so young.

Roose crossed his arms. “I will question him myself, and then he will be executed.”

Meryll clenched her hands in fists at her side. “You will do no such thing, Roose. Elmar is just a child.”

Roose bristled at her tone and his eyes went cold. “He is guilty of treason.”

“He is twelve years old!” Meryll shot back.

“Old enough to know the consequences,” Roose said. “Now sit down so we can discuss what this means.” His voice had gone very quiet, and somewhere in the back of Meryll’s mind, she knew that meant she should be treading very carefully, but that wasn’t the part of the mind that controlled Meryll’s mouth.

“You are a _monster_!” she hissed and stormed out of the room.

“Meryll,” Roose said from behind her, a warning tone in his voice.

She took off down the corridor and could hear Roose following and calling her name, increasingly angry each time he called out, so she broke into a run. It occurred to her that she didn’t even know where the Dreadfort dungeons were, but at this point she just wanted to get as far away from Roose as possible. She headed toward the east tower, thinking she could bar the door when she reached their chambers.

She yanked open the door to the tower and tried to slam it in Roose’s face, but he was able to get his foot in the door before she could push it closed. He lunged at her, but she twisted away and ran up the stairs.  Meryll made it about halfway up the stairs before she felt Roose’s hand close around her ankle. He yanked and she fell face down, not quite getting her hands under her in time and her jaw slammed painfully into the edge of the stone stairs.

Roose pulled her by her leg toward him, his face stony and unyielding. She rolled over and kicked at him. Roose swore and let go of her ankle as her boot connected with his face. Meryll turned and took off up the stairs again but this time he tackled her, grabbing her by the waist and climbing on top of her. She rolled over to her back and slapped him across the face. The sound of her palm hitting his cheek was so satisfying that she raised her other hand to do it again, but he grabbed her wrist in an iron grip and forced her arm back down.

In an instant, Roose’s eyes went from icy cold to molten heat. _Gods, is he actually aroused by this?_ Meryll thought, growing angrier. But she found her anger fed her own desire as well. She managed to get a knee up between them and wrestled with Roose until she was on top and the edges of the stairs were digging into _his_ back instead of hers. And then her fingers were yanking at the laces of his breeches and his hands were gathering her skirts up.

Meryll practically snarled as she sank down on Roose’s cock, and he allowed her exactly two pumps of her hips against his before rolling her under him again. He bent his head down to bite at her lips, a feral version of a kiss, and she answered in kind by digging her nails into his scalp. Their fucking was brutal and animalistic, hands tearing at each other and each of them hissing curses at each other in between the less controlled noises that they were making.

Only caring about her own pleasure, Meryll reached her hand between their bodies to rub between her legs. She barely noticed the discomfort of the stone edges behind her back and head as she rubbed out her release, her cry hoarse and raw, echoing in the narrow stone stairwell. Roose’s own release was not long after, and was accompanied by a savage growl as he collapsed on Meryll. Immediately, she was kicking and pushing him off of her, disgusted with herself and not wanting any part of him touching her anymore. Roose rolled away, breathing hard.

Meryll pulled her skirts down, noting her bloodied elbows and knees. She tried to stand but a spasm of pain shot through her back and her knees buckled beneath her.

“Roose?” Jorran called, coming up the stairs. Roose stood and laced his breeches.

“Help Lady Bolton to her chambers,” Roose said calmly, as if he hadn’t been rutting on the stairs like a beast just a few minutes earlier, and turned and left.

Meryll was trembling as Jorran lifted her and carried her up the stairs and into the study. He exchanged a few quiet words with the guard outside the door before entering. The second Jorran laid Meryll down on the settee, she sat up, ignoring the twinge of pain.

“Where was Roose going?” she asked, pushing away the furs Jorran was trying to lay over her.

“Meryll, he’s going to the dungeons,” Jorran said, and sat down beside her.

Meryll stood and was heading toward the door when Jorran stopped her. “Don’t bother, the door is bolted from the outside.”

Meryll sat again. “Roose is questioning Elmar right now?” she asked.

“I think so, kitten,” Jorran said, pulling Meryll into his arms when her eyes filled with tears. Meryll cried for a long time in Jorran’s arms, trying not to imagine what horrors young Elmar was experiencing, and trying not imagine those horrors being committed by a man she cared for very much.

After a time, Jorran offered to send someone to bring up Meryll’s midday meal, but Meryll declined. She stood and paced, aware that she had picked up one of her husband’s irritating habits. “Even if Elmar was sending information to grandfather, it likely had nothing to do with the ambush on the supply lines,” Meryll reasoned. “Grandfather would never take direct action against another house unless victory was absolutely assured. The espionage makes sense. He will sit back and gather as much information as possible in order to decide which horse he should place his bet on.”

“We don’t know if Elmar was sending information to anyone else other than Lord Frey. Or if Lord Frey was passing the information on to someone else,” Jorran said. “It may not have been related to the ambush, but it doesn’t change the fact that Elmar is guilty of treason.”

Meryll sighed. “Elmar would have done anything to please my grandfather. He is the youngest of my grandfather’s sons. He took his duties very seriously.”

Meryll spent the afternoon alternating between pacing, raging and weeping. She told Jorran several times he could leave, but he refused to leave her alone. She was back in his arms crying again when Barbrey entered.

Barbrey briskly removed her gloves and cloak and threw them over Roose’s chair. “It is done,” she said, watching dispassionately as Meryll wept a fresh fall of tears. Barbrey waved Jorran away with a flick of her hand and sat on the settee beside Meryll. “Your young kinsmen died bravely,” Barbrey said, awkwardly patting Meryll’s shoulder. “He accepted his sentence with grace. And it was a clean death.”

“And the interrogation?” Meryll asked. “Was Elmar hurt terribly?”

“Roose never laid a hand him,” Barbrey said, looking as if she disapproved. “He didn’t need to. Elmar is quite a chivalrous young man. Roose listed in great detail all the ways he would torture you if Elmar didn’t talk. He sang sweetly as a bird after that.”

Meryll couldn’t decide if she should be angry or grateful. “And what did Elmar say?” Meryll asked.

“Just that Lord Frey wanted reports on any matters of note. Elmar has been sending information back to the Twins for over a year now,” Barbrey said. “Roose asked him if he knew what the sentence for treason was and he said he did. He was given the option of beheading or hanging. He chose beheading.”

“He was a child,” Meryll said tearfully.

Barbrey gave Meryll an imperious look. “ _You_ are the one acting the child, Meryll. What was Roose supposed to do? He can’t been seen going soft on traitors. And you are the Lady Bolton. How does it look when you question your husband’s orders? When he makes difficult decisions, that is when he needs your support the most.”

Meryll stiffened. “I don’t think it was a very difficult decision for him,” she said.

Barbrey gave Meryll a sharp look. “Oh no? Do you think he enjoyed killing his lady wife’s kinsmen knowing she’d be furious with him? And do you think it’s normal for him to question a traitor without bloodying his hands? He may have lost out on extracting crucial information from Elmar as to not upset your delicate sensibilities.”

Meryll said nothing.

Barbrey sighed. “You are the Lady of the Dreadfort. There is no place for tears.” Barbrey reached into a pocket in her skirts to pull out a square of silk. She carefully wiped the tears from Meryll’s cheeks and when she was done, she put the silk back in her pocket. As if she couldn’t resist, Barbrey reached out and ran her fingers over the blooming bruise on Meryll’s jaw with an almost wistful look in her eyes. “Roose looks worse for wear than you do. And to think that old bruise of his was almost healed. Did you give him that one too?”

Meryll shook her head. “Jorran,” she explained.

Barbrey raised an eyebrow. “My, how things have changed at the Dreadfort.”

Roose entered then. If he was surprised to see Barbrey sitting with Meryll, he didn’t show it. “Meryll. You will join me in the Great Hall for supper this evening, and you will be _civil._ ” He didn’t wait for a response and went downstairs to the baths.

Barbrey rose to leave. “I will send in your handmaid to fix your hair,” she said. “It's an absolute mess. Come along, Jorran.”

When Anna arrived, she insisted that Meryll change her dress. Meryll hadn’t noticed until then how filthy the dress was from her rolling around in the tower stairwell. Anna inhaled sharply when she saw Meryll’s back, but didn’t mention anything, and was as efficient and quick as ever in getting Meryll laced up in a clean dress, and tidying up her hair.

Meryll was sitting on the settee when Roose came in from the baths. He had changed into a faded grey tunic and fitted black breeches tucked into his boots. He pulled on his black leather doublet and sat beside Meryll, his knees angled toward her. She saw he had a jar of Tybald’s ointment in his hand. “Are your knees as raw as mine?” he asked wryly. Meryll flipped her skirts up to reveal her scraped and bloody knees. Roose got up to wet a cloth with water from a pitcher on the table, and returned to gently clean away the blood and debris.

“I understand why you did what you did,” Meryll said stiffly. “But I don’t have to like it.”

Roose looked up. “I don’t expect you to like it. I didn’t even expect you to understand it. But I won’t tolerate such outbursts in public. I’ve always been clear on that. You can speak freely to me in private, and I will let you know when you can speak freely in the council chambers, but otherwise you will not question my decisions.” He carefully dabbed Tybald’s ointment on Meryll’s knees.

“Will you punish me?” Meryll asked.

Roose stoppered the jar and put it back in his pocket. He reached up to gently touch the bruise on her jaw, and his eyes softened some. “I think you have been punished enough, Meryll.”

Meryll touched the angry gash her boot had left on Roose’s cheek. “And you?”

Roose removed her hand from his face. “I’m fine,” he said. He leaned in and kissed her lips softly but pulled back when she winced. Meryll gingerly touched her lips with her fingers. They were swollen and felt bruised to the touch.

Meryll stood to find her looking glass and laughed when she saw her reflection in the glass. The bruise on her jaw was a dazzling array of red, purple and blue and her lips were swollen and raw. Roose’s bites had actually drawn blood in a few spots. “We’ll make quite the pair at supper tonight,” Meryll said.

Roose stood and offered Meryll his arm. “Shall we go?”

Supper was a rather sedate affair; the execution of young Elmar had an effect on everyone in the keep. Roose had forbid anyone from sharing the news outside the Dreadfort, which was easy enough to enforce with the ravens being monitored. No one dared to comment on the injuries of Lord and Lady Bolton, however, Lady Barbrey seemed completely fascinated by them and could scarcely drag her eyes away from their faces while they were eating. It was starting to make Meryll uncomfortable and ever sensitive to her moods, Roose stood and escorted Meryll back to their chambers.

He stopped at the door, explaining that he had many letters to review with Tybald, and held her tight for a moment before turning to leave.

“Roose,” she called after him. He looked back.

“Thank you for not being unnecessarily cruel to Elmar,” Meryll said.

Roose raised an eyebrow. “You might not say that if you knew the things I told him I would do to you.”

Meryll shook her head. “I don’t want to know.”

“No, you don’t,” Roose said. “We need to talk more about your grandfather and what this means. Tomorrow.” He disappeared down the stairs.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 20, I can't believe it!

Meryll was tucked into bed reading The Loves of Queen Nymeria when Roose came up to bed from the baths. “I suppose you want to finish your chapter before I blow the candles out,” he said wearily.

By the gods, her husband looked exhausted. Meryll felt a begrudging respect for Roose mixed in with the heavy weight of sadness at the loss of young Elmar’s life. Try as she might, she couldn’t hate him for it. Sometime during the evening, she had shifted her blame from Roose to her grandfather. Why would Grandfather ask such a thing of his youngest son? Was Elmar so dispensable?

Meryll closed her book and slipped it under her pillow. “I’ve read this book at least a dozen times anyway. Blow out the candles and come join me,” she said.

Roose groaned a bit as he eased himself into the bed, making Meryll laugh. “Too old to be rutting in the stairwell?” she teased. “I don’t know what you have against feather beds and soft surfaces.”

Roose yanked her back against his chest, fondling her breasts lightly. “I like soft surfaces just fine.” Meryll pushed back against him and wiggled a bit, earning herself a sharp pinch on her shoulder.

“Stop your squirming and let me sleep,” Roose growled. Meryll’s insides warmed as he buried his head in the crook of her neck and his body relaxed against hers. In these moments, Roose communicated more through his comfort with Meryll than he ever could through words.

When Meryll woke up in the morning, she felt like she had been run over by a carriage. Her jaw throbbed and her joints were sore and achy. Roose was already gone but she hoped he felt as awful as she did.

Jorran said she could skip the warm-up that morning but Jorran always completed every drill he assigned to his men, so she thought she should too. After the warm-up, she started her archers working on movement exercises since they wouldn’t always have the luxury of being able to plant and shoot. They needed to know how to aim and shoot while on the move.

Meryll was happy with the progress her small force was making. She completed every training drill that she assigned to them, and by the end, she was exhausted. When she returned to her chambers, she soaked in the baths a little longer than usual, feeling her joints loosen up in the hot water.

Meryll threw on a light linen shift before ascending the stairs to the study. Roose was at his desk, staring at a letter. Meryll stood in the doorway watching him. Something was wrong. His face was bland and expressionless, and Meryll had learned that the blanker his face, the more he had to hide.

“What are you doing?” she asked, approaching the desk but stopping a few feet away. Roose didn’t look up.

“I’m working on deciphering this coded message that came by raven this morning.” Roose set the letter down and beckoned Meryll closer. “Perhaps you can help,” he said, lifting his gaze to meet hers. “The message is for you, after all.”

Meryll took her place beside Roose and tried to keep her tone light. “I’m sure it’s from one of my sisters,” she said, reaching for the letter. Roose snatched the letter from her grasp and stood.

“It’s from Lord Frey. I recognize his hand,” Roose said quietly and stepped closer, his closeness causing her to step back, running into the desk. His crowding her wasn’t intimate; it was meant to be intimidating.

“Why would your grandfather send you a coded message?” he asked, voice dangerously soft as he stepped closer again. His thighs brushed hers and she leaned back to get some breathing room.

Meryll’s heart was pounding. How could Grandfather be so stupid? If Roose thought nothing of sentencing a twelve year old boy for treason, would he do the same to his wife? Meryll swallowed, reminding herself that she hadn’t actually committed treason.

“If you let me see the letter, I can tell you exactly what it says,” she said, not entirely successful at keeping her voice from shaking.

Roose’s eyes betrayed his cold fury even as his face remained still and his voice quiet. He gripped her upper arms and leaned in close. “Why would I believe you? I had a Frey spy in my rookery yesterday. I’m surrounded by Freys. Freys in the Dreadfort. Freys at Moat Cailin. Freys at Winterfell. And Freys in my _bed._ ”

“Roose, you’re being ridiculous—“ Meryll’s breath caught as Roose pushed her down onto the desk.

“Tell me why Lord Frey would send you a coded message,” Roose said again, and moved his hand to her throat and wrapped his fingers around her neck.

The combination of fear and pressure on her throat was too much. Meryll was back in the dungeon, the scent of her own sweat and fear filling her nostrils. Her collar was tight around her neck and Ramsay loomed over her, asking her about letters.

Meryll lifted her hands to the collar, fingers grasping, trying to pull it away from her throat. She just couldn’t get enough air. She felt panic creeping in along the edges of her consciousness and gasped for air but it was never enough. She begged and pleaded between gasps until she no longer had the breath to speak.

Suddenly, Jorran was pulling Ramsay off of her and the two men fell to the ground, wrestling. Meryll tried to stand but her limbs were trembling too much, and she collapsed behind the desk, still struggling for air.

Jorran knelt beside her on the floor. “Meryll, can you hear me?”

Meryll’s teeth were chattering so violently that she couldn’t speak. She managed a whimper and tried to grab onto Jorran’s arm but her fingers wouldn’t do what they were supposed to do. Then Jorran’s face was right in front of hers, his blue eyes full of concern.

“You’re safe, kitten,” he said. “I need you to breathe with me. In for five counts and out for five counts.” Meryll tried to breathe with him but broke away, panting. Jorran kept refocussing her and her breaths lasted longer each time until she was finally able to make it the full five counts.

The dungeon and its odours of blood, sweat and urine faded away and Meryll was back in the study. Jorran lifted her in his arms and sat in the chair. Meryll looked across the room, dazed. Roose was standing in the doorway, pale as a sheet; his lips pressed into a thin line.

“You will put Lady Bolten in a cell,” Roose said quietly.

Jorran stiffened. “Roose—“

“That was an order, Jorran,” Roose said, turning on his heel and leaving.

Meryll started shaking again. “Jorran, I can’t, I can’t go back to that dungeon, please—“

Jorran held her closer. “It won’t be Ramsay’s dungeon. And I’ll make sure you’re never alone,” he said. “Can you stand?”

“I think so,” Meryll said. Her legs were still shaky but she was able to stand on her own.

“Go and get dressed,” Jorran said. “Your warmest dress – it will be cold. And bring your cloak as well.” Once he was sure Meryll wasn’t going to collapse again, Jorran went to the door to give quiet instructions to the guard on duty. Meryll dressed in a boiled wool dress and fur cloak.

“Ready?” Jorran asked.

“Jorran, you don’t believe I would ever betray Roose, do you?”

Jorran was quiet for a moment. “Not on purpose,” he finally said. “But it doesn't look good, Meryll.”

No. It really didn’t. Meryll wished Roose would have just shown her the letter. What in hells had Grandfather written?

Jorran took Meryll’s arm and led her through the keep to the staircase leading to Maester Tybald’s chambers, but instead of going up the stairs, he lifted a tapestry on the wall, revealing another staircase; this one leading down into darkness. Jorran took a torch from one of the skeletal torch holders on the wall and they descended the stairs to the Dreadfort dungeon.

There were no prisoners currently being held in the dungeon from what Meryll could see. They walked down the dark corridor and passed by several empty cells, each looking equally dismal and filthy, holding nothing but dirty straw and a wooden bucket. There was a torch lit at the end of the corridor, and Jorran pushed open the wooden door to the last cell. It had clearly been cleaned and hastily furnished with a small cot, table and chair. The bed was piled high with furs, and two torches had been lit.

Even with the small comforts, there was no hiding that it was still a dungeon cell. Manacles and shackles were embedded into the stone walls and chains and hooks hung from a wood ceiling beam.

Meryll entered the cell and sat on the bed. Jorran was watching her very closely. “I’m fine, Jorran,” she said tersely. “Will Roose be down to question me soon?”

Jorran sat in the wooden chair beside the small table. “No, Lady Jonelle of House Cerwyn and Lady Eddara of House Tallhart have just arrived and will join the war council this afternoon.”

Meryll frowned. “I should be there. How many men did they bring with them?”

“Just over a hundred each. But some of those men will escort their Ladies home after Roose marches to Winterfell,” Jorran answered.

“Home? No, Lady Jonelle and Lady Eddara will stay here after Roose marches. As our _guests_ ,” Meryll said.

Jorran grinned. “Hostages, you mean. I like how you think.”

Meryll didn’t smile back. “It should certainly encourage the loyalty of their men who march with Roose. Jorran, you must attend the council meeting in my stead.”

“Of course,” Jorran said. “And kitten, you might not see Roose until tomorrow. He likes to let prisoners have a day to work themselves into a frenzy worrying about the upcoming interrogation.”

Meryll paled but sat taller and kept her face serene. “Roose would never hurt me.”

Jorran gave her an odd look and moved to sit beside her on the bed. “Let me take a look at your neck,” he said. He turned her head from side to side, examining her and running his fingers over her skin lightly.

“No bruises, at least,” he said.

Meryll looked at him, confused. “Why would I have bruises?” she asked.

“Kitten, strangling leaves bruises,” Jorran said, and held his hand in front of her face to show her. “One for each finger, and one on the other side from the thumb.”

Meryll stared at him. “Jorran! You didn’t actually think that Roose—“ Meryll stood up. “He didn’t! He only placed his hand on my throat – hardly pressing. I just – I panicked … I don’t know why. All I could see was Ramsay, and feel that evil collar around my neck again. It was like I was living it all over again.”

Jorran pulled her back down to sit beside him. “Kitten, that happens sometimes after a horrific event. I saw it with my men who were taken prisoner during Robert’s Rebellion. When you were with Ramsay, all you were thinking of was your survival, and you didn’t give your mind a chance to work through the fear and terror. That’s why it’s happening now.”

“Will it happen again?” Meryll asked.

“It’s likely. I don’t like you being in here by yourself because of that,” Jorran said, stroking her cheek. He stood. “I need to leave for the council meeting now, but I’ll send Whitby to stand outside your cell.”

As promised, Whitby came by shortly after Jorran left. Anna was with him, and she carried in a pile of books, including The Loves of Queen Nymeria. “I found it when I was making your bed,” Anna explained.

“Who knows I’m down here?” Meryll asked, taking the books from Anna.

“Oh, I imagine the entire household staff know by now,” Anna said. “But none of the guests. Lord Bolton expects us to be discrete. Although—“, she paused. “Lady Barbrey has likely pried it out of someone already. But none of the other visiting bannermen would know.” Anna looked around the cell. “Is there anything else I can bring you, Lady Bolton?”

Meryll shook her head and gave Anna a grateful hug. After Anna left, Meryll lay on the bed, furs gathered around her, and tried to read. Her thoughts inevitably returned to Roose. She couldn’t help thinking of the last couple nights, when Roose slept so easily while holding her close. Surely he trusted her. Or did it just make her supposed betrayal cut twice as deep?

And the letter. What did it say? The code she had developed with her sisters wasn’t terribly complicated – clearly, Lord Frey had already broken the code – so it certainly wouldn’t take Roose long to decipher the message if he hadn’t already. She tried not to imagine all the incriminating things that Grandfather could have written and how Roose would react to each of them.

Jorran returned hours later, carrying a large tray of food. “Cook thought it was a good night for pheasant and mashed potatoes,” Jorran said, winking. “Nothing to do with you, I’m sure.”

“I couldn’t possibly eat,” Meryll protested. “Tell me about the meeting. How is my husband?”

“He is understandably preoccupied,” Jorran said, sitting. “The meeting was a complete waste of time. The bannermen spent the entire time trying to one-up each other while Roose paced. Normally, he wouldn’t have tolerated even a minute of their bickering.”

“But Lady Jonelle and Lady Eddara?” Meryll pressed. “You convinced them to stay?”

“Yes, I did as you said. I offered them rooms and protection at the Dreadfort as it would be far too dangerous to travel during these uncertain times. They accepted. Barbrey definitely knew what my intentions were but I’m not sure Roose even noticed.”

Meryll tried to make a joke. “He’s probably too busy planning which of my limbs he will flay first.”

Neither Meryll or Jorran laughed.

Jorran stood, taking a plate of food to the bed. “You do need to eat. However he decides to question you, it will be gruelling and you will need your strength.”

“Perhaps just some wine?” Meryll asked hopefully.

“No wine,” Jorran said firmly. “But you need to have some water.” Meryll picked at her food a bit but her stomach was churning and her mouth dry. At Jorran’s insistence, she drank a cup of water.

“Do you think you could sleep?” Jorran asked. “It would be better than lying here, worrying. I’ll stay with you while you sleep.”

Meryll hadn’t had any problems falling asleep no matter how early ever since she started training with Jorran’s recruits and this evening was no exception, despite what was happening.

Meryll woke up when the cell door opened. She wasn’t sure how long she had slept. Roose entered the cell, closing the door behind him. He was holding a large leather sac in his hand.

Roose’s gaze scanned the room, taking in the clean floors, comfortable bed, piles of furs and barely touched supper. When his eyes came to rest on hers, her stomach seemed to drop several inches.

Roose looked terrible, paler than she’d ever seen him. “How long have you been leeching this evening?” she asked, concerned.

He didn’t answer, and looked at Jorran. “I suppose I should be thankful that my household staff just saw to Lady Bolton’s comfort, and didn’t attempt to smuggle her out of the Dreadfort to safety.”

Jorran shrugged, a slight smile on his face. “I will wait outside the door,” he said.

“No!” Roose said, and even he seemed surprised at the force in his tone. “You will take your post inside the door.”

Roose emptied his sac onto the table, revealing a selection of shackles and cuffs, floggers, quirts, a ball gag, and other devices Meryll couldn’t identify. He rifled through the pile and to Meryll’s relief, selected two sets of leather cuffs.

“Get up,” he ordered her, voice firm, but surprisingly mild. Meryll pushed the furs off and slowly stood. Roose beckoned her over with an impatient flick of his fingers.

“Give me your wrists.”

Meryll only considered resisting for an instant. Roose caught the fleeting obstinacy crossing her face and watched her warily. The perfect picture of obedience, Meryll offered Roose her wrists.

He efficiently buckled each cuff snuggly around her wrists. He moved her to the center of the cell and pulled down a chain from the ceiling beam, neatly hooking it to the metal ring on her cuff before doing the same on the other side. The chains were tight enough that she felt a stretch in her joints – uncomfortable, but not painful.

Roose knelt down to secure the other set of cuffs around her ankles. Again, she considered putting up a fight, but it was really just prolonging the inevitable. She couldn’t help moving her foot away when he reached out to grab it. He sat back on his heels and waited silently for her to settle.

Meryll exhaled a shaky breath and forced herself to stand still. Roose fastened the cuffs and attached them to more chains, spreading her legs just wide enough to make her feel unsteady. A chill of fear shot down her spine at the realization that she was totally at Roose’s mercy.

Her breathing was shallow and rapid as Roose slowly circled her like a panther stalking its prey. He reached in his doublet and pulled out a sinister looking knife. Meryll couldn’t help herself and a small whimper escaped. Roose actually _smiled_ at the sound.

He trapped her in his unyielding gaze, and his cool grey eyes never left hers as he slowly dragged the tip of the blade from her collarbone down between her breasts with such a feather light touch that he never broke the skin. He continued dragging the blade down when he reached the top of her dress, and the fabric parted cleanly at the touch of the blade.

Meryll held as still as possible as she felt the sharp edge of the blade graze over her stomach and between her legs. Roose sliced through the rest of the dress with ease. He stood and with a few more easy slices at her arms and shoulders, her dress and shift fell away, leaving her naked.

Meryll was nervous and scared, which seemed completely appropriate and reasonable, but she questioned her sanity when she felt herself dampen between her thighs.

Roose stood very close behind Meryll, the press of his body a solid wall of warmth in the cool dungeon air. His breath was warm on her face when he spoke. “Let me read this letter to you.” He held the letter where she could see it and rested his chin on her shoulder so he could read the words out loud to her.

“My dearest Meryll. You are turning out to be a useless spy. Elmar tells me you have been invited to the war council table, so I will expect an update from you soon. In your case, I think your blade is mightier than your quill, so I will let you know if we have further need of your blade. We stand together. Grandfather.”

Roose tilted Meryll’s head back to face him. “Have you been spying on me?”

Meryll fought to keep her voice firm. “No, you know I haven’t.”

“Were you sent here as an assassin? To kill me?”

Meryll shook her head. “You _cannot_ believe that!”

Roose walked away, leaving Meryll shivering at the cold where his touch had warmed her just a second earlier. She could hear him sorting through the tools on the table.

A moment later, soft tendrils ran up and down her back. _The leather flogger. Gods._ Her legs shook, causing the chains to jingle softly.

Roose came in close from behind again, his arm coming around her, hand just under her breast. He whispered in her ear. “You can scream all you want, curse at me, or cry. It doesn’t matter. I’ll still do whatever I want.”

Meryll shuddered, still unsure if she should be terrified or excited. Or maybe a bit of both?

Roose stepped back and hit her with the flogger. The leather strands hit her skin in little thuds as he struck her up her legs, butt and back in a steady rhythm, never hitting the same spot twice. He gradually increased the impact until each blow left a stinging pain. Just as she started to whimper, Roose stopped.

He was behind her again, pressing into the stinging skin of her back. His hands reached around to roughly cup her breasts, squeezing and pinching until she sighed and let her head fall back against him.

And then he moved back and began flogging her again, the strokes growing harder and stinging against her skin until the entire back of her body became one burning pain. The flogging stopped and the heat of his body warmed her again, his hands roaming over her stomach and then between her thighs, brushing over her mound. Her knees buckled underneath her but the chains held her upright. _More_ , she wanted more.

Again, the blows from the flogger thudded against her skin, harder this time, truly hurting now. But somehow the burn just increased the throbbing between her legs. His strokes came in an easy rhythm over her body, but carefully avoiding her spine and kidneys. She tightened her muscles in anticipation of each blow but sometimes they came so fast that she couldn’t tense between them. She bit back a cry as the flogger struck a particularly sensitive spot where her ass met her thigh and she heard a thud as Roose threw the flogger to the ground.

Roose knelt in front of her and Meryll cried out in pain when his hands grasped her burning backside and yanked her hips forward. But her cries turned to moans when he buried his face between her legs, lips closing around her throbbing bud. He sucked her most sensitive spot, flicking his tongue over her at the same time. She wailed as everything in her tightened and then suddenly exploded outward in wave after wave of pleasure.

He flogged her again, harder yet. Meryll hung limp from the chains, tendrils of pleasure sneaking in between the pain until she wasn’t sure what she was feeling anymore. Her mind seemed to let go somehow, and she could no longer feel the ground under her feet. She couldn’t hear the flogger over the thudding of her own heartbeat anymore.

“More,” she pleaded.

Meryll barely felt it when Roose’s arms wrapped around her from behind, lifting her back to her feet so she wasn’t hanging on the chains anymore. She worked hard to concentrate on what he was saying.

“No more. You’ve had enough,” he said, voice tight.

“Mmm?”

“Meryll, were you ever spying on me?”

“No,” she sighed, leaning back against him.

“Did Lord Frey ask you to spy on me?”

Meryll frowned. “Yes… at the wedding, when he was dancing with me.”

“And why didn’t you?” Roose’s voice was as quiet and dangerous as ever, but it seemed to hold an odd tenderness as well.

“You are my husband. My family, now.”

Roose’s arms tightened around her and he brushed his cheek against hers before loosening his grip again.

“What else did Lord Frey ask you?”

“He told me to kill Ramsay before Ramsay killed me,” Meryll whispered.

Roose stiffened. “And so you did. Did you plan it?”

“No, it just… happened.”

Roose reached up and unhooked the chains from her cuffs, and then released her ankles as well. He was ready to catch her when she collapsed. He lowered himself to the ground, cradling her in his arms. “Tell me what happened in Ramsay’s dungeon.”

Meryll was still riding high from her earlier euphoria, and it didn’t bother her a bit to recall her time with Ramsay. “Once I was in his dungeon, I thought dying might be the best option, the only way to escape him. I called him a bastard, hoping to enrage him enough that he’d just kill me, but he didn’t. He just beat me until I passed out.

“After he put the collar on me, he left me by myself in the dungeon. It gave me time to think about my death. I realized I wanted a life with you – I wanted to be a wife, and have your children. And I didn’t want to leave you with Ramsay as your only heir. He would have killed you eventually, you know that, right?”

Roose laughed without humour. “You killed him for _me.”_

“When Ramsay returned, he made me kneel at his feet while he ate. He ordered me to eat from his plate afterward, but I refused. He had my dagger in his boot – the one you gave me. I wanted to enrage him – force him to make a mistake. And he did. I was able to get the dagger when he was kicking me. And you arrived shortly after that.”

Roose had closed his eyes, so Meryll couldn’t see his response, if there was one.

“He told me over and over again that you and he were alike – like father, like son – but I didn’t believe him.”

“You should have believed him,” Roose said, opening his eyes to stare at her. He had an almost pained expression on his face. “Are Ramsay and I not alike? Did I not make you kneel at my feet while I ate?”

Meryll struggled to sit up. “That wasn’t the same—“

“And didn’t I nearly strangle you this morning?” he continued coldly. He gently pushed her off his lap and stood up.

“No, you didn’t,” Meryll said. She was starting to come out of her euphoric state as she sensed that the conversation was going in a very bad direction. “Roose, you barely touched me.”

Roose was pacing now. “No,” he said, shaking his head, “You couldn’t breathe. You were gasping and choking.”

Jorran stepped forward from his post at the door. “She just panicked, Roose. It triggered her memories of Ramsay torturing her. There are no marks on her neck.”

Roose was walking toward the cell door. Jorran grabbed his arm, causing Roose to flinch and yank his arm back like he was going to throw a punch at Jorran, but he seemed to catch himself and lowered his arm.

“You can’t leave her alone after what you just put her through. She’s going to crash hard,” Jorran warned.

Roose pushed past Jorran. “You will take care of her.” Roose left and Meryll heard the lock click, shutting her in with Jorran.

The euphoria had completely passed, and Meryll’s limbs were starting to throb from being suspended for so long. Jorran lifted her from the floor and she winced at the contact with her skin, the burning, stinging sensation from the flogger returning. He placed her on the furs and piled more furs on top of her and then slid in beside her on the cot. "I'm sorry, kitten, I know I'm not the one you want comfort from right now," he murmured.

Meryll closed her eyes and prayed fervently that Roose would come back to her. 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My playlist for this chapter included Johnny Cash's 'Hurt', and Ingrid Michaelson's "Breakable" and "Ghost".


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to iheartloki, who faithfully reads every chapter, commenting with a polite request for more hot, steamy, rough sex. Your wish is my command, iheartloki.

Meryll opened her eyes to the soft glow of morning light, which seemed wrong. The light streamed through the gaps of the window covering. But there were no windows in the dungeon. Or four-poster beds with panels of lavish brocade fabric hanging from each corner. Meryll might have thought her night in the dungeon was just a bad dream but the rawness of her skin said otherwise. She blinked. Maybe she was dreaming _now_?

“Morning, kitten.”

Oh gods. _Jorran._ He was in the bed with her, torso bare. Meryll peeked under the furs in a panic. Thank the gods, he was still wearing his breeches. Jorran watched all of this with an easy smile. “We’re in the west tower,” he explained. “I carried you here last night.”

“I can’t believe I didn’t wake up,” Meryll said.

“You snored the whole time,” Jorran teased.

“I do not snore!”

“Of course not, kitten.”

“Does Roose know I’m here?” Meryll asked. Had Roose let her out of the dungeon just to be locked in the tower as far away from his chambers as one could get without leaving the Dreadfort?

Jorran’s eyes held sympathy. “You’re here on his orders.”

“On a happier note,” he continued, “you’re excused from training this morning.” Jorran climbed out of bed and pulled a tunic over his head. “But I’m not. Tybald will be up shortly to see you.” He pulled his boots on and kissed Meryll on the forehead before leaving.

Meryll started to roll over onto her back but the brush of the linen against her tender skin had her quickly rolling back onto her side. She decided she would just stay in that position for the rest of the day.

Tybald arrived before too long. “Greetings, Lady Bolton,” he said cheerfully as he pulled the furs back. “Oh dear,” he said, slightly less cheery.

“Is the skin broken?” Meryll asked.

“No, no,” Tybald assured her, “nothing like that. Lord Bolton was just very… thorough. Not terribly severe, but I don’t think he missed any spots. Roll onto your stomach.”

“Not terribly severe?” Meryll asked incredulously. The entire back side of her body felt like it was on fire. She let Tybald roll her over.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Lady Bolton,” Tybald said, “I know it must feel like you’ve had the skin flayed off of you. But there will be no lasting damage. Lord Bolton is very deliberate about corporeal punishment. Whatever pain you are feeling is exactly the amount he intended you to feel, no more, no less.”

“Why thank you, Maester Tybald. That’s very comforting,” Meryll said wryly, and gasped as Tybald smoothed an ointment over her skin. The ointment seemed to increase the burning when it first touched her skin, but a moment later had a cooling effect.

Anna came in just as Tybald was leaving. And behind her was a servant carrying a tray of breakfast.

“Bloody hell. Anna, help me get dressed,” Meryll said. “The entire household staff doesn’t need to see my bare butt this morning.”

Anna frowned. “Are you sure, Lady Bolton? I brought up a shift and dressing gown but you might be more comfortable without.”

Meryll pushed herself up to sitting, hissing with pain at the contact of the bedsheets on her backside and legs. Anna saw the futility in arguing and pulled the gauzy linen shift over Meryll’s head as gently as she could. Meryll stood and felt better immediately. Perhaps she could make it through the day without sitting.

The other servant had left the breakfast tray on a small round table by the window. Meryll ate standing up as Anna looked around the room. “I don’t think anything has changed in here since Lady Bethany died,” Anna commented.

Meryll swallowed. “I sincerely hope that doesn’t apply to the linens,” she said to no one in particular.

“It’s a proper ladies chamber, unlike Roose’s chambers in the east tower,” Anna continued. Meryll looked around. The room was larger than Roose’s study, and in addition to the four poster bed, it was furnished with a wardrobe and matching chest of drawers, as well as a dressing table with mirror. Meryll supposed it _was_ a bit odd that she dressed in Roose’s study each morning and had to sit on the settee for Anna to fix her hair. Still, she liked sharing the chambers with Roose.

Anna kept Meryll company for most of the morning, chatting away happily and sharing all the best pieces of Dreadfort gossip. After lunch, Meryll was thinking about going back to bed when the door swung open.

“What have you done to Roose?” Barbrey asked, sweeping into the room in her usual imperious manner.

Meryll stared at Barbrey in disbelief. “Seriously Barbrey, what have _I_ done to _Roose_?”

Barbrey sat on the chair by the hearth. “He cancelled all his meetings today to go hunting. Meryll, he has a war to win and instead he is fighting battles with his wife.”

Meryll marched across the room to stand in front of Barbrey. She only felt slightly ridiculous in her nearly sheer shift when Barbrey gave her a disapproving once-over. “The only battles Roose is fighting are in his head,” Meryll snapped.

Barbrey crossed her legs. “The household staff are all convinced you have bewitched him with one of your potions.”

“And you believe that?”

“Not the bit about the potions,” Barbrey said, mouth twisting. She eyed Meryll again. “Are you quite all right, Meryll?”

“I’m fine,” Meryll said, feeling self-conscious.

“So fine you cannot sit down?”

Meryll gave Barbrey a dirty look and slowly eased herself onto the divan. “You’re just jealous.”

“Of course I’m jealous,” Barbrey conceded. “But that hardly matters. I’m still practical enough that I can appreciate that you are trustworthy and Roose needs more people that he can trust.”

Meryll opened her mouth to point out that Roose hadn’t trusted her very much when he saw Grandfather’s letter but Barbrey interrupted.

“I never believed that you would betray his trust,” Barbrey said. “I tried to convince him, but he was intent on interrogating you.” Barbrey shrugged as if it was no longer of consequence. “So, what now? Will you just wait in this tower for Roose to come around? Because my sister waited here for almost thirty years and she was still waiting when she died.”

 _And how long did you wait, Barbrey?_ Meryll couldn’t help thinking.

“I don’t know,” Meryll admitted. “When Roose is like this, talking makes it worse. I think—“

“You silly, ridiculous little girl,” Barbrey interrupted, giving Meryll a pitying look. “No one said anything about _talking,_ Meryll. You talk too much and that’s half the problem right there.” Barbrey’s smile faded and her gaze was piercing when she looked into Meryll’s eyes. “I spent far too many years trying to talk my way into that cold, impervious heart.” Barbrey uncrossed her legs and stood to leave. “Don’t wait too long. There’s a bigger war to be fought.”

After Barbrey left, Meryll crawled back in bed.

Meryll woke later to the sound of the horns announcing Lord Bolton’s return to the Dreadfort. Deciding Roose would come to her when he was ready, Meryll stayed in bed. She waited there, as the sun set. Waited as her supper became cold. Waited past the change of the guard. Waited while the keep grew silent.

Meryll found herself picturing the first two wives laying in the very bed that she lounged on; corpses, both. And she thought of Barbrey, beautiful blond locks gone white, heart long gone cold. And Roose, his face ever grim, and the weariness rarely leaving his grey eyes.

She rose from the bed, pulling on the brocade dressing gown that Anna had left. No one had thought to leave any boots, but there was a pair of slippers that would have to do. Meryll found Whitby at the post outside the chamber door. “Am I permitted to leave the tower?” Meryll asked.

Whitby considered her question. “I have received no direct orders to keep you here, Lady Bolton, so as far as I’m concerned, you are free to come and go as you please.” Meryll suspected Whitby had been given _indirect_ orders to keep her in the tower, and she hoped he didn’t get into trouble later.

The west tower wasn’t connected to the main inner keep, so it was a cold trek across the yard to the east tower. At the top of the tower stairs, Jorran was holding sentry at the door. His eyes crinkled when he saw Meryll. “It’s about time, kitten,” he said, opening the door. “He’s in the baths. Best you wait up here until he’s done.”

Meryll cringed a bit at the word ‘wait’, but annoyingly, Jorran was probably right. Besides, the thought of submerging her tender back in the hot waters of the baths wasn’t terribly appealing.

She entered Roose’s chambers, nearly tripping over his boots which had been left directly in front of the door. His mostly uneaten supper sat on the dining table. Furs were strewn around the settee; he hadn’t slept in his bedchamber, _their_ bedchamber, the night before. Meryll let her dressing gown fall to the floor, making a pile with Roose’s cloak and leather jerkin by the bedchamber door as she entered. She lit the four candles in their wall sconces and settled herself on top of the furs.

She didn’t have to wait long. She heard Roose’s bare feet padding up the stairs. He nearly walked right by the bedchamber door but the lit candles caught his eye and he turned to peer in the door. He froze, wide-eyed, when he saw Meryll. She watched as he gained control and his mask of indifference slid over his face. But there were things the mask couldn’t hide. There was a shade of softness in his eyes that, try as he might, could not be covered up. Nor the paleness of his skin from far too much leeching.

Meryll sat up as Roose came through the doorway, the weight of his gaze heavy on hers. He halted at the foot of the bed, seemingly at a loss for what to do or say. Meryll could feel words threaten to bubble out of her: words of concern that he had leeched too much blood, words of bitterness for thinking she had betrayed him, words of love and care for… for Roose being _Roose._ She swallowed, hearing Barbrey telling her she talked too much. But Barbrey had also told her not to _wait_ , and what was she doing now, if not waiting?

Roose’s gaze didn’t leave hers as he reached his hand up to loosen the ties at the neck of his tunic and pulled it over his head. Every once in a while, it surprised Meryll that Roose wasn’t a large man – when he entered a room, his commanding presence always made him seem more sizable than was reality. He was probably only a couple inches taller than her; leanly muscled, and stomach flat.

Meryll was still drinking in the sight of him when his hands dropped to the laces of his breeches. She stared, transfixed, as his fingers undid the knot and pushed his breeches down over his narrow hips. He was only semi-erect but that was quickly changing; clearly, he enjoyed her eyes on him. But Meryll wanted more than her eyes on him, she wanted to touch all that beautiful _skin_.

She slipped off the bed and managed to slide in behind Roose before he could grab her. She slid her hands over his back, tracing her fingers over the many scars of battles past. Roose let out a long exhale when she leaned forward to brush her lips over his neck as he had done so many times to her. Meryll continued her exploration downward, sliding her hands over his tightly muscled buttocks, smiling at the strangled noise he tried to hold back.

Roose turned around and captured her lips with his, a gentle brushing at first, and then tasting and nipping at her lips. Meryll stepped forward, pushing Roose until he sat on the bed and eased himself back to recline against the pillows. She followed on hands and knees, mouth never leaving his.

Meryll climbed over Roose, straddling his hips and pulling her mouth away to sit up. His hands slid over her thighs, pushing up the hem of her gauzy shift until she took the hint and pulled the shift over her head, letting it drop to the floor. She ran her hands over his torso, letting her fingers thread through the hairs on his chest. When she lifted her gaze to meet his, the look on his face made her pause her exploration.

Roose’s brow was slightly furrowed, almost as if he was confused by what was happening, and his eyes held a tenderness she had never seen in him before. Meryll leaned over to kiss him again, dragging her breasts across his chest. She gasped at the delicious slide of skin on skin – a feeling that she realized she had been longing for since their wedding night. Roose deepened their kiss, entwining her tongue with his and moving his hands to rest gently on her waist.

Meryll pulled away again to sit up. She was slightly surprised when he didn’t yank her back, but she enjoyed how his eyes filled with heat as they roamed over her body. She moved her hips forward and then back, throwing her head back at the exquisite sensation of his hardness sliding over her wet slit. Meryll rose up on her knees so she could take hold of his erection and guide it to her entrance. She slowly lowered herself onto him, and moaned as his thickness filled her.

Roose’s hands slid down to her hips but before he could tighten his grasp and take control of her movements, she shook her head. Meryll took his hands in hers and placed them on his chest, holding them down and using them for leverage as she lifted herself up and slid slowly down again.

Roose groaned and tilted his head back on the pillows, lips parting. _Gods, he was beautiful like this._ She released his hands because she wanted them on her, and he did not disappoint. Roose reached up to caress her face before sliding down, grazing over her neck and shoulders; touch light as a whisper over her breasts. Meryll fought to maintain her languid pace of lovemaking (and that’s what she thought it was, though she’d never mention it to Roose) when he reached between her legs and slid clever fingers through her wetness.

Each time she rocked back down against him, she let her body tell him, show him, the words she longed to say out loud. _You are mine. I am yours._ Hot stroke after stroke, her insides coiled and tightened, pressure building until she could hold it back no longer. A tidal wave of pleasure burst through her and her hips bucked frantically, erratically. Her fingers clutched at his chest as she cried out and she didn’t resist when Roose took hold of her hips and pulled her down onto him again and again.

Meryll fought hard not to close her eyes – she wanted to watch Roose as he quickly approached his own release. She held his gaze as he shattered before her, his face twisting in some impossible combination of anguish and pleasure as he cried out harshly, spilling his seed.

Meryll collapsed against his heaving chest, wanting to keep him inside her as long as possible. Roose trailed his fingers down her back, creating an odd mix of pleasure and pain due to his ministrations with the flogger the eve before. Meryll pulled back and he gave her a knowing smile as her insides convulsed around him.

She rolled off of him and settled carefully onto her back, enjoying the little stings of pain from the rough linens underneath her, not that she’d admit to Roose.

Roose turned onto his side, propped up on one elbow. He lazily trailed his fingers over her collarbone and watched her face, his lips curving slightly. Meryll was watching him too, waiting for him to put his icy mask back on, leaving her in the cold.

“You are beautiful,” he said quietly.

Meryll laughed. “I never thought you were the sort of man to be moved by beauty.”

“I’m not.”

“You didn’t choose me as your bride because of my great beauty?” she teased him.

Roose’s face became serious. “Choosing you as my bride was not one of my most well-thought out plans.” He traced her lips with a finger, moving it away quickly when she tried to nip at him. “With that mouth of yours, I knew you could enrage Ramsay enough that he might just kill you outright instead of drawing it out. And I must have known that only one of you would be left standing at the end of the day. Perhaps I even _hoped_ that you’d kill him. Because I hoped you would do the same to me if it ever became necessary.”

Meryll sat up when she realized what he was saying. “Roose,” she whispered. “Do you mean—“

He placed his fingers over her mouth to stop her from speaking. “When my father took that arrow during the Skagosi invasion, it was a blessing. His mind was gone, poisoned by his bad blood, no longer fit to rule. He was always cruel, but as he got older, it became pointless, mindless cruelty with no regard to his reputation, or to the future of his house. He needed to die.” The conviction in his tone gave Meryll pause, and she turned to him, wide-eyed.

“That was no Skagosi arrow that killed your father, was it?” Meryll asked softly. “And it wasn’t a Karstark arrow either. _You_ shot that arrow.”

Roose pulled her back down to the pillows. “Shush, Meryll. The truth has never been spoken out loud before, and I ask you to not bring it up again.”

“Jorran must already know,” Meryll argued.

“Perhaps, but he has enough sense not to mention it.”

Roose smiled ruefully. “What does it say about me? That I killed my own father, and sighed in relief when you killed my only heir.”

Meryll leaned over to kiss his cheek. “It says that you always know what must be done. And when you cannot do it yourself, I will be there to help.”

Roose hummed in resignation and pushed her over and straddled her. Meryll found herself admiring her husband’s body again – his broad shoulders, lightly muscled arms and chest, flat stomach and—

“My goodness, are you ready for another romp so soon?” she asked, admiring _all_ of him. “That’s quite impressive for someone of your advanced years,” she teased. He leaned down and bit her lip hard enough to make her yelp.

“Watch yourself, girl,” he said in quiet, silken tones. “Any more of your disrespect and I’ll make you come so many times that you will scream for mercy.”

Meryll laughed, rolling her eyes. “For someone who carries a flayed man on his banners, you are absolutely atrocious at coming up with effective punishments.” She paused. ” _Old man._ ”

Roose’s eyes flashed and he gave her a terrifyingly  _wicked_ grin. He moved over to kneel beside her and reached between her legs. She was still tender and sensitive from earlier and he touched her with little finesse, grinding the palm of his hand against her swollen flesh until everything in her clenched and then exploded in brutal pleasure. He waited a few seconds for her to stop trembling, and then did it again.

The third time Roose brought her to the heights of her pleasure, he used his mouth, and the fourth time, some combination of his mouth and fingers. Meryll’s pulse pounded in her head, and a fine film of sweat covered her body. “I don’t think there’s any more left,” she told him.

“Oh, I think there is,” he said, and reached under the mattress and pulled out a flogger. After a few light swats at her thighs, he fucked her with the handle while his lips sucked mercilessly at her overly sensitive nub until she came. She screamed that time.

Meryll lay limp and watched warily as Roose climbed over her and wrapped her legs around his waist. How was it possible that something so good made her entire body ache? “No more,” she begged him. “I can’t take any more.”

Roose smiled and thrust into her to the hilt. “You’ll take whatever I give you,” he informed her. It felt good when he moved within her, but she no longer felt the building pressure of pleasure. Her body was done.

“I don’t think I can—“ she started but was quieted by Roose’s kisses. He sat up, still impaling her, and reached down to caress her breasts, finishing with a sharp pinch of her nipples.

Roose gave her a long, considering look as he flicked her nipples a few more times. “You know, Meryll, I have a set of metal clamps in the dungeon that would look absolutely magnificent on your nipples.” He smiled when she closed her eyes and whimpered, inner muscles clenching hard around his cock. “That look on your face…” he said, admiring her. “Anxious, fearful and completely _wanton_.”

He began to move again, this time using his finger and thumb to squeeze her nipple _hard_ as he fucked her, emulating what she would feel if he brought those clamps up from the dungeon. It seemed that every nerve in her body blasted awake at the sensation. Her muscles trembled as her need grew to unbearable. She could hear a high keening noise and it was a while before she realized it was her that was making that awful, desperate-sounding, whining sound.

She had just a moment to consider the ridiculousness of the phrase “reaching the heights of pleasure” before she got there and Roose brutally shoved her over the edge. The explosion of pleasure that burst through her was almost painful and seemed to rip her right away from the world. She screamed herself hoarse and was still trembling when Roose growled out his own release.

They lay together for a while longer in a sweaty tangle of limbs, breathing heavily, until Roose rolled off of her and pulled her into his arms. “I think I’ll save those metal clamps for another night,” he said quietly. “You seem tired.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack for this chapter was Sarah McLachlan's "Full of Grace", Ingrid Michaelson's "Masochist", and Feist's "Secret Heart".


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh yes I did. 
> 
> 4,360 words of smut. 
> 
> You're welcome.

Meryll attempted to get out of bed but Roose’s arms tightened around her. “Not quite yet,” he said. Meryll rolled over to face him instead and groaned a little at the soreness in her body. Roose’s eyes crinkled in amusement.

“You are looking nicely used this morning,” Roose said with a hint of a smile. Meryll blushed. His smile faded and his face became serious. “I march to Winterfell tomorrow,” he said, tracing a finger down Meryll’s cheek. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you yesterday.”

“You’re sure I have to stay here?” Meryll asked.

Roose frowned. “I need you here.” His expression lightened a bit. “Jorran told me you are responsible for our political hostages?”

Meryll smiled. “Lady Cerwyn and Lady Tallhart? They are our _guests_ , Roose.”

“Of course.”

“There is also the matter of your grandfather.” Roose continued. “Jorran shared with me your musings on Lord Frey’s motivations for using Elmar for espionage. I believe you are correct in that your grandfather would not take direct action against another house without complete assurance of that house’s imminent downfall.”

“What will you tell him about Elmar?” Meryll asked.

“After the battle at Winterfell, we will send word of Elmar’s death to the Twins. Another life lost in battle,” Roose said. “And luckily for Lord Frey, he still has a spy in place at the Dreadfort.”

Meryll sat up. “Who?”

“You.”

Meryll pursed her lips. “We’ll feed him select bits of information?”

“Exactly.” Roose pushed off the furs and got out of bed. “You’re going to be late for training.”

Meryll grimaced. “No way, I’m taking the morning off.”

“If you think Jorran’s warmups are bad, wait until you see what he assigns recruits who are late or absent from training,” Roose warned. Meryll watched Roose exit the bedchamber, still nude. _We really need to have no-clothing days at the Dreadfort,_ she thought.

Meryll dressed in her leathers and ran down to the yard so she wouldn’t be late for Jorran’s warmups. It was snowing heavy, wet snowflakes when she exited the inner keep.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” Jorran greeted her. “With all that screaming coming from the tower last night, I thought you’d need a few days before you were walking again.”

Meryll grinned cheekily. “I think you’re jealous.”

“I know how to make a woman scream, kitten,” Jorran said, winking. “Who do you think Roose learned from?”

Meryll shivered, not entirely from the cold. She couldn’t even imagine the intensity of Roose and Jorran working in tandem in the bedchamber – Roose alone was overwhelming enough.

As Meryll ran her laps around the yard, the snow fell harder. The ground was slippery with slush and ice, and Meryll lost her footing. Jorran turned back to help her up.

“I’m fine,” she assured him, although she did limp a little when she walked. Jorran examined her ankle and agreed that it wasn’t anything serious, but told her to take the morning off.

“Take some snow and ice that ankle so it doesn’t swell up on you,” he recommended. Meryll found a pail and filled it with snow before slowly heading back to the east tower.

Once in the study, she peeled off her wet clothes and headed down to the baths. As she reached the last turn in the stairs, she saw Roose reclined on the stone bench. Meryll froze.

He must have just gotten out of the bath. Roose was still unclothed, hair slicked back, and droplets of water clung to his skin. Meryll’s mouth watered as she imagined licking each of those drops from his body. His head was tilted back, eyes closed, and she thought he looked like something out of her most erotic dreams. Her breath hitched and the bath chambers seemed to get even steamier when Roose moved his hand down to slowly stroke his hardening cock.

Meryll set her pail down as quietly as possible and took a seat on the stairs to enjoy the view. Roose set an easy pace with his hand, as if he had all the time in the world. When he made a low noise in the back of his throat, it somehow managed to resonate between Meryll’s legs and she sighed happily.

“Are you going to just sit there and watch, Meryll? Or would you like to provide some assistance?” Roose didn’t bother opening his eyes when he spoke. His voice was in good form, low and silkily nuanced, sending a frisson of excitement down her spine.

“I’m happy just to watch,” Meryll said, trying not to laugh.

Roose opened his eyes to give her a look. “Get down here.” he growled. Meryll picked up her pail and descended the stairs to the baths. She knelt on Roose’s folded bath linens beside the bench.

“Use your hands,” he murmured. Meryll felt a deep sense of peace and contentment as she took him in her hands, fully aware that her husband did not often express what he wanted from her, preferring to just take it.

The skin of his cock was gloriously smooth, stretched tight around his now engorged member, and her hands slid easily over the hard shaft. A glistening pearl of liquid formed on the tip and Meryll used her thumb to spread the wetness around the head. She kept her hands in constant motion and smiled at the sporadic, constrained little grunts Roose emitted as he fought hard for control over his building pleasure. The next time a bit of his seed leaked out, she leaned over to lick it up with a quick flick of her tongue. She was rewarded with a low-pitched groan.  

Wanting to see what other noises Roose could make, Meryll took the head of his cock in her mouth. She sucked lightly, sweeping her tongue in circles between sucks and Roose gave a grunt of approval. She took all of him in her mouth, sliding her lips firmly up and down his length and Roose hummed with pleasure. She lightly grazed her teeth down his shaft while gently tugging his balls and Roose breathed her name in reverence.

Getting close to his release, Roose fisted his hands in Meryll’s hair and thrusted into her mouth, encouraging a faster pace. She obliged, sucking harder and faster as his breath became more erratic. Then he tensed, holding her head down on him, and let out a low-pitched growl, jerking as he spilled his seed in her mouth. He tasted earthy and salty and Meryll swallowed every drop.

Resting her head on his stomach, she gazed up at her lord husband. His eyes were still closed and she could feel his pulse under her cheek. He looked so relaxed. _Too relaxed._ Meryll reached down under the bench into her pail and came up with a handful of snow. Roose’s eyes opened just as Meryll started to giggle and pressed the cold snow onto his abdomen.

Roose shot up off the bench, leaving Meryll in a heap on the floor.

“ _Holy seven buggering hells, woman!"_

Meryll was laughing too hard to move away before he swept her up off the floor and tossed her into the cold pool. She shrieked when she hit the icy water, the cold taking her breath away. Roose jumped in after her and as soon as she surfaced, he was right there, devouring her mouth. He kept crowding her until her back hit the wall of the pool, and then he lifted her up onto the ledge. She moaned when he pushed her thighs apart and buried his head between her legs, licking her heated core in long strokes. He was merciless, licking, sucking and stroking until she was pleading his name over and over.

And then he stopped.

Meryll whined and tried to pull his head back between her legs but he evaded her grasp and stepped out of reach. _Gods, she wanted him._ Roose was all about control and restraint, but she could always sense something coarser, something untamed, lurking just below the surface. She _needed_ that side of him.

“I am going to keep you just on the edge of your release for the rest of the day and I am going to enjoy it very much,” he said in a measured tone.

Meryll rubbed her thighs together, trying to find some relief. “How are you going to stop me from just taking care of my own needs?” she asked saucily.

Roose pulled himself out of the pool and yanked her up so her back was against his chest. He leaned over to speak quietly in her ear, which always seemed to make her weak in the knees. “I won’t need to stop you, because you know very well that however you please yourself, it won’t be nearly as satisfying as waiting for me to do it for you. Your body is _mine_ and I know exactly how to touch you, and kiss you, and fuck you to make you respond in ways you’ve never even dreamed of.”

Meryll’s knees really did give out then. Roose smirked and pulled her back to her feet. “Now, what was that snow for, anyway? Are you injured?”

“I fell during my run and turned my ankle,” she explained. “I’m fine.”

Roose hummed contemplatively. “I should probably examine you,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching. He hooked the handle of her pail over his arm and carried her up to the bedchamber. He left her there for a moment, and when he came back, he was dressed in his leather breeches.

He wrapped up some of the snow and ice in a linen cloth and laid it over her ankle, which was a tiny bit swollen, but certainly nothing to fuss over. He continued his ‘examination’ by running his hands up the insides of her legs until he reached her sex.

“You’re quite heated here, Meryll. I think we better cool you down.”

Meryll squealed when he took a chunk of snow and laid it on her mound. He leaned over and held down her legs so she couldn’t squirm as much. The snow melted from the heat of her skin, and she moaned as the icy water dripped between her folds.

Roose observed her with a calculating look that made her nervous.

“I should have you walk the keep naked so I can order my men to tease and play with you until you are driven mad with desire,” he mused.

Meryll’s eyes widened as she looked at Roose with apprehension. _Was he serious?_ The idea was both intriguing and terrifying. The snow was completely melted now but she couldn’t tell how much of her wetness was from the snow and how much was from desire.

Roose’s eyes twinkled as he leaned over to kiss her. “Your reaction pleases me,” he murmured in her ear. He pulled another piece of snow out of the pail and trailed it over her neck and collarbone. She shivered from the cold and then sighed in pleasure when he followed the icy trail with his mouth, licking up the water and warming her skin. She inhaled sharply when he continued the treatment over her breasts, lingering over her peaked and aching nipples. The snow melted and Meryll thought she must be melting as well. She felt like she was drowning in a wet puddle of _need_.

“You look hungry, Meryll,” Roose said. “Go and get dressed and we’ll eat breakfast in the Great Hall.” _He was such a tease._ Still, Meryll was grateful that he was permitting her to get dressed first. But every step was torment. The tiniest bit of friction between her legs was enough to leave her gasping in pleasure. And Roose knew it. Meryll paused at the bedchamber door to look back at him. He was still lounging on the bed and looking mightily pleased with himself.

He got up and followed her into the study. Meryll wasn’t surprised when he pulled out a deep blue wrap-around dress from her wardrobe. Of course, he’d want convenient access to her body all day. Roose helped her dress, taking his time and adding extra touches and leaving her pleading for release. He just smiled and shook his head.

Somehow, she found herself sitting at the table in the Great Hall eating breakfast normally and not moaning wantonly. Roose kindly kept his hands off of her, but even the weight of his gaze raised goose bumps on her skin. He spoke with Jorran and Galwin about preparations for the march to Winterfell, and the low, silky tones of his voice somehow seemed to caress her in completely provocative ways. _Gods, maybe it is actually possible to be driven mad with desire_.

She was forced to focus on the conversation at hand when Maester Tybald spoke directly to her. “Lady Bolton, I was wondering if you could visit Lady Jonelle of House Cerwyn in her chambers this morning. She has been unwell the last few days with headaches. Perhaps you can take her a vial of your oils.”

Meryll had completely forgotten about the visiting ladies. “And Lady Eddara of Tallhart? She and Lady Jonelle must think I’m a terrible host.”

“The guests have all been told that you were sick with fever the last couple days,” Jorran told her. Meryll pressed her lips together. _A fever… not so far from the truth. The last few days had certainly been heated._

“Lady Eddara has brought along a travelling companion but I don’t recall her name.” Roose mentioned. “You can invite the ladies to sup with you while I’m away.”

Roose stood. “Come, Meryll, I’ll walk you to Lady Jonelle’s chambers.” He reached into his pocket to pull out the vial of oils she had given him for his headaches and handed it to her.

Lady Jonelle was staying in the main keep, in Ramsay’s old quarters. When they reached the stairs, Roose pulled Meryll into the dark space under the stairs and covered her mouth with his. He plunged his tongue in and out between her lips in mock imitation of the act she was truly craving. When he pulled away, Meryll was left flushed and heavy lidded.

“When you’re done visiting with Lady Jonelle, you can join me in the council chamber,” he said, giving her one last kiss in farewell.

Meryll stood under the stairs a moment longer, straightening out her dress and trying to breathe normally again. Finally, she made her way up the stairs to Lady Jonelle’s room. The guard stationed at the door wore black and silver, the colours of House Cerwyn.

“Lady Bolton, I presume?” he asked politely. Meryll nodded and he opened the chamber door for her.

The room was dark despite the morning sun. All the windows had been covered and only a few of the sconces were lit. After letting her eyes adjust, Meryll saw Lady Jonelle was reclined on the couch, a wet cloth on her brow.

Seeing Meryll approach, Lady Jonelle tried to sit up but Meryll shook her head. “That’s not necessary, Lady Jonelle. I’m sorry you are unwell.” Meryll took the cloth from Lady Jonelle’s brow and rewetted it in the basin by the couch. She squeezed out the extra water and gently placed it back on Lady Jonelle’s forehead. Lady Jonelle was pale, and her features was drawn with pain.

“Thank you, Lady Bolton,” she said softly. “I fear the journey here took its toll. I often suffer from headaches a few days after travelling from Castle Cerwyn. It will likely have passed by tomorrow.”

Meryll pulled out the vial of oils from the pocket in her skirt. “I look forward to getting to know you when you are feeling better,” she assured Lady Jonelle. “I have brought some healing oils that I believe will help ease your pain. Will you permit me to apply them?”

Lady Jonelle looked curious and nodded. Meryll poured a few drops in her hands and gently massaged the oil into the skin of Lady Jonelle’s temples.

“If you’re feeling up to it, you’re invited to sup with me in my chambers tomorrow evening with Lady Eddara and Lady Barbrey,” Meryll said. Lady Jonelle nodded and Meryll took her leave.

The short time away from Roose seemed to have allowed her burning desire to abate somewhat, although she suspected he wouldn’t allow that to last for long once she reached the council chamber.

The council chamber was crowded with Roose’s bannermen: Lady Barbrey for House Dustin and House Stout, Lord Roger for House Ryswell and Lady Eddara for House Tallhart. Armies from House Manderly, House Locke, and House Hornwood were already garrisoned in Winterfell, and Hother Whoresbane of House Umber was on his way to Moat Cailin. Arnolf Karstark would be joining up with Stannis Baratheon’s army shortly, ready to turn colours during the battle at Winterfell. Also seated at the council table were Ser Baren, Steelshanks, Jorran and Galwin. Meryll took the last empty chair beside Jorran. 

Roose, of course, was pacing. “I will have 600 of my own calvary plus around 600 foot soldiers from House Ryswell, House Dustin, House Tallhart and House Cerwyn. I already have 3,500 men garrisoned at Winterfell. Once we reach the keep, Lord Aenys Frey’s men will form the bulk of the vanguard. We will need to keep the Freys and the Manderlys separated as much as possible.”

Roose stopped his pacing behind Meryll, resting his hands on the back of her chair. She could feel the heat from his body even without him touching her. Roose continued talking, and Meryll might have been imagining it, but she thought maybe he deepened his voice a little more. _Like honey poured over gravel,_ she thought, shivering.

“Once I arrive in Winterfell, I will dispatch a force to penetrate the defenses of the enemy,” he said, and let his fingers trail over Meryll's exposed shoulders just above the back of the chair. _Did he actually emphasize the word 'penetrate' a little bit?_ Meryll couldn’t decide if her mind was addled from unsatisfied desire. She looked around the table, wondering if anyone noticed, but Roose’s actions were subtle and to anyone else in the room, it still looked as though his hands were still on the back of the chair. Jorran seemed aware of what was happening, though, and gave Meryll a sidelong look with a bit of a smirk.

“How long will it take you to get to Winterfell?” Jorran asked Roose.

“Three days of hard riding,” Roose said quietly. _How does he make everything sound so incredibly erotic,_ Meryll wondered. She squirmed in her chair, trying to relieve some of the ache between her legs. Gods, if all these people would just leave the council chamber, Roose could bend her over the table and—

“Lady Bolton will hold command of the Dreadfort while I am away,” Roose said, and laid his hands on her shoulders, caressing her skin lightly. Apparently, he didn’t care who saw him with his hands on his wife. Meryll tried hard to appear nonplussed, but every bit of her skin had turned into an erogenous zone and it didn’t seem to matter where he touched her, it all sent little zings of pleasure straight to her core.

“If there are no other questions, you are all dismissed,” Roose said, hands still firmly on Meryll’s shoulders. Apparently, she was _not_ dismissed.

Once the last bannerman had left the room, Roose closed the door and pulled a chair out from the table. He took a seat and motioned Meryll over. She went and stood by him and he positioned her between his legs. He pulled at the ties on her dress and let it fall open, baring her breasts to him. His fingers teased her nipples lightly and she moaned, wanting his clever fingers in other places.

Meryll tried to sit on his lap so she could create some friction where she needed it most but Roose’s hands tightened around her upper arms, keeping her upright, and he tilted his head up to take a nipple in his mouth. He sucked and licked and nibbled until she was just repeating, “ _Please,_ ” over and over again.

And then he was pulling her dress back into place and pushing her out the door, eyes crinkling in a smile that didn’t quite reach his lips.

Meryll stood outside the council chambers for a moment, trying to catch her breath. Every part of her felt tingly and over-sensitized and all she could think about was Roose fucking her. She thought hard to come up with something decidedly not-erotic to do, and settled on visiting Maester Tybald to update him on Lady Jonelle’s condition.

After spending the afternoon chatting with Maester Tybald, Meryll finally felt like she could think straight again. She was headed down the corridor back to the east tower when she was yanked into a dark alcove and pushed up against the wall. Hungry lips came crashing down on hers before she could register what was happening. Roaming hands slid up her sides and traced along the neckline of her dress, fingers teasing under the edge of the fabric. The body pressed up against hers was long and lean. Too tall to be Roose.

Meryll pulled her head back in a panic.

“Bloody hells, Jorran!” she exclaimed, breathless from his kisses.

Jorran leaned his torso back to peer down at Meryll but kept her pinned to the wall with his lower body. “Lord Bolton’s orders, my lady,” he said with a wicked smile.

Meryll’s entire body clenched with need as she considered that Roose could have ordered Jorran to do any number of things to her, and Jorran would have obeyed without question. Her lips parted and Jorran took advantage and plunged his tongue back in her mouth, grinding his hips into hers to let her know that it was no great hardship following his lord’s orders.

Out of the corner of Meryll’s eye, she saw a flash of blond hair and blue skirts and tried to push Jorran away.

“Someone saw us!” she hissed at Jorran. “A woman in a blue dress. I didn’t recognize her.”

Jorran didn’t look too concerned. “Must have been Lady Azura. She’s Lady Eddara’s travelling companion. I’ll have a little chat with her later.” He narrowed his eyes at Meryll. “Roose won’t be pleased if I leave you worried instead of wanton.”

Meryll leaned helpless against the wall as Jorran reached under her skirts and slid curious fingers between her legs. “Holy hells, kitten, are you wet,” he said, sounding impressed. He leaned closer to murmur in her ear, “You have no idea how much I would enjoy sinking into your sweet cunt.”

Knees shaking, Meryll couldn’t help but whimper.

“Much better,” Jorran said, plunging his fingers in and out a few times before removing his hand and letting Meryll’s skirts fall back into place. “If you’ll excuse me, I better find Lady Azura.”

Meryll tried to gather her wits. “Once you’ve spoken to Lady Azura, please find Roose and ask him to join me for supper in the study.”

“Yes, Lady Bolton,” Jorran said with a wink and sauntered off in the direction that Lady Azura had scurried.

When Meryll entered Roose’s study, he was already there, working at his desk. He looked up with a sly smile and leaned back in his chair. Meryll closed the door behind her and untied her dress as she walked toward the desk. She let the blue silk fall from her shoulders and she climbed into Roose’s lap, sighing happily as he wrapped his arms around her.

“What can I do for you, Meryll?” he murmured in her ear with a knowing smile on his lips.

Meryll squirmed in his lap. “I _need_ you,” she pleaded. “I need your fingers and hands and lips and tongue and cock and I’m sorry about the snow this morning. _Please,_ Roose.”

Roose lifted her onto the desk and pushed her down onto her back. His hands pushed her legs open and then parted her folds as he leaned down to feast. Meryll thought she might actually cry tears of joy when his tongue flicked over her throbbing bud. She fisted her hands in his hair, trying to pull his head closer. He knew exactly what she needed and closed his lips around her most sensitive flesh and gave one hard suck. Meryll keened and bucked against his mouth, shockwaves of pleasure rippling through her body.

He pulled back just long enough to unlace his breeches and yank her hips forward so she was on the very edge of the desk. With his first thrust, she wailed as her world shattered apart again, dissolving into pleasure. Her flesh was so sensitive and swollen that the slide of his thickness inside her was almost _too_ intense. She clutched onto him, unable to control the shuddering and jerking of her body as he fucked her with abandon. Roose’s release came quickly, and the still-functioning part of Meryll’s mind considered that perhaps the day had been just as long and frustrating for him as it had been for her.

Roose sat back in his chair, pulling Meryll into his arms again. “I still need to check the supply wagons with Galwin,” he said with regret in his voice. “I won’t be back until quite late, but I’ll wake you in the morning before I leave.”

Roose kept his promise, waking Meryll with kisses in the quietest hour of the morning. Gentle kisses down her neck, lingering kisses over the soft skin of her abdomen, insistent kisses between her thighs and quieting kisses over her mouth after she had cried out her release.

“I don’t want you to come down to the yard to see me off,” Roose said quietly, pulling her legs up to wrap around his waist. “This is how I want to remember you,” he said, sinking into her wet heat. “We say our goodbyes here and now.”

Their goodbyes were long and drawn-out, lasting until the sun rose.


	23. Chapter 23

_Dear Meryll,_

_We arrived at Winterfell just last night. The heavy snow slowed us considerably and it took us four days to get here. It’s still snowing now and showing no sign of stopping._

_We did lose two horses and one man on the journey here – they were lost in the blizzard. Upon arriving at Winterfell, I reported two men lost – one being Elmar Frey. I’m sure your grandfather will receive the news from your uncle Lord Aenys very soon._

_The reports of tensions between the Frey and Manderly armies were not exaggerated. They’ve been at each others’ throats since I arrived and I suspect they are actually trying to behave themselves now that I am here. My plan is to send the Freys out the main gate and the Manderlys out the west gate first thing tomorrow morning. I have until then to figure out what orders to give them… I will keep the Bolton men garrisoned in the keep._

_Stannis Baratheon is marching to Winterfell. The same snow that slowed us will slow him as well. I have scouts searching for the army as I write._

_I have given Maester Tybald and Maester Henly orders to let our correspondences through without monitoring, so you may write freely._

_R_

* * *

 

_Dear Lord Bolton, Lord of the Dreadfort and Warden of the North,_

_Sorry, I’ve never written a letter to you before, so I wanted to do it properly! Did I get all your titles right? Should I add The Leech Lord?_

_The Dreadfort feels empty with you and so many of the men gone. Of course, I now have many female companions, which is very odd. I don’t think I ever had female friends other than my sisters and cousins. And I don’t even know if I should be calling these ladies ‘friends’. Is this how woman friends treat each other? No one says what they mean, every word has a thousand different meanings and I’m never sure if I’ve just been complimented or insulted. Well, I guess it’s mainly Barbrey. Most of my time is spent smoothing things over between Barbrey and the other Ladies._

_It is a relief to talk with Jorran after trying to navigate the hedge maze of female conversation. And thanks to Jorran, I haven’t slept since you left. (I’m sorry, I’d much rather credit my lack of sleep to your absence.) The day before you left, I made the mistake of telling Jorran he was jealous of my screaming (yes, I know you are shaking your head at me right now). Jorran has taken my comment as a personal challenge. He’s had Lady Azura in his bedchamber every night since you left, and let me tell you, the woman has a good set of lungs on her. However, now that I know how much sound carries in the tower, I’m a wee bit embarrassed!_

_Lady Barbrey asked me if I had given you a token of my favour before you left for battle. My apologies, Roose, it didn’t even occur to me to do such a thing but I suppose it is what ladies are expected to do when their lords go off to war. Please forgive my negligence. You know you are constantly in my thoughts and I hope you will carry that knowledge as my favour._

_Meryll_

* * *

 

_Meryll,_

_Nicely done with the titles. I think you could probably add “my liege lord and master” to that list. It has a nice ring to it, no?_

_It doesn’t surprise me that Barbrey is antagonizing Lady Eddara and Lady Jonelle. Barbrey has never gotten along with other women. You can use this to your advantage – next to Barbrey, you’ll appear the perfect host. Robb’s war left so many of the houses without strong Lords, and Ladies are ruling in their stead. I will need you to win their loyalty. Gods know you’ll have an easier time of it than I will._

_It’s best not to ever say anything that will bring out Jorran’s competitive side, but you will have realized that by now, yes? You’ll have to tell me more about this Lady Azura – it’s unlike Jorran to have repeat visitors to his bedchamber. And I can assure you, Jorran loved every one of your screams, wails and moans, so there is no reason for you to feel even a ‘wee bit embarrassed’._

_You’ll be happy to know that I actually did bring along a favour from you. Tucked into my armor is your drawing of Whoresbane Umber. It’s really quite amusing and does remind me of the insolent minx that you are. Gods help me if I should die in battle and be found with a drawing of Whoresbane on my person though._

_The keep is finally quiet now that all the Manderlys and your kinsmen are gone. It is much easier managing the food stores as well. Both forces have orders to weaken Stannis’s army in whatever ways they can._

_I have received word that Stannis is camped at Crofter’s Village, waiting out the storm._

_R_

* * *

 

_My Dearest Dreadlord, Liege Lord and Master, Head of House Bolton, Lord of the Dreadfort, Warden of the North and Keeper of My Pleasure,_

_Lady Azura is lovely! She is sweet and spirited and the only one I can trust to say what she means, but then again, she doesn’t have political motives like the others. She keeps giving me these little knowing smiles, so I suspect Jorran is quite the pillow talker. But Jorran is not so discrete about his activities with Lady Azura either. He shared with me that she was disappointed that he doesn’t wear smallclothes because she wanted to wear his tunic and smallclothes as nightclothes?? Jorran has requested that Galwin order him a set of smallclothes. Roose, if you ever decide to wear smallclothes, I will be sorely disappointed in you. I rather enjoyed the way you used to just open your breeches and take me over whatever surface was closest._

_I’m missing you even more than usual today. Can you tell?_

_Oh, how I laughed when I read of what you had chosen as my favour. Let that be extra incentive that you do NOT fall in battle – just think what it would do to your reputation if you were found with a token of your affection for Whoresbane._

_I have to say, Lady Jonelle is a bit of an odd one. I keep catching her staring at me. No. More like gazing. It’s very odd. She has been thanking me profusely for taking the time to visit while she was ill, and she now sends little gifts up to my chambers every day. Should I be concerned about this? Jorran seems to think it’s impossibly funny and he won’t tell me why._

_Yours,_

_Meryll_

* * *

 

_Meryll,_

_I guess I should have told you about Lady Jonelle. There is a reason she is past thirty and still unmarried. She prefers the company of the more feminine sort. It sounds like she is sweet on you. I suppose I can hardly blame her. Lord Medger, her father, never forced her to marry, but now with both Medger and Cley, her brother, dead, she will need to reconsider. It is a matter of survival for House Cerwyn._

_I have received some rather interesting news from my scouts. Stannis has burned his daughter at the stake in sacrifice to the Red Woman’s god in some sort of desperate attempt to end the snowfall. He did it in full view of his army, and most of his sellswords have deserted. His wife, Lady Selyse, hanged herself afterward and the Red Woman has fled. This would be appropriate news for you to pass on to your grandfather._

_Stannis is pressing on to Winterfell with only 1,300 of his own infantry left. My scouts estimate there are just over 2,000 mountain clansmen and around 1,000 Northern men (deserters from Ramsay’s sack of Winterfell) marching with him. I have ordered the Manderly forces to continue their night raids on the enemy camps. The camps are now prepared for night raids, however it means that the enemy forces are not resting at night. Morale is low._

_Lord Arnolf joined up with Stannis a day east of Crofter’s Village, and the 400 or so Karstark men now march with Stannis as well – half in the vanguard, and the other half making up the rearguard. I had hoped they would all be in the rearguard, but we will have to make do. Once my cavalry ride through the gate, Lord Karstark will change his banners, and the enemy army will be trapped between us. Victory is certain. You need not fear of my reputation being tarnished by Whoresbane’s portrait._

_We’ve been apart for nearly a fortnight now. I’m forced to recall the last time I spent a fortnight away from your bed. After Ramsay. I remember that night so vividly and I cannot forget any of it because it still haunts my dreams._

_Or perhaps I do not want to forget._

_Walking into that dungeon, and seeing you, Meryll, my Meryll, elbow deep in blood and gore. Ramsay’s blood and gore. I wonder if it will surprise you to know that you were never more beautiful to me than in that moment, cloaked as you were, in blood and hard-won survival. And in the hours afterward, bravely enduring your stitching without milk of the poppy, your face so prettily contorted in pain and your hands grasping mine. Then I bathed you, and oh, how badly I wanted to take you then. Claim you as mine and make you forget that Ramsay ever touched you. Show you that the only marks that would mar your body from then on would be my marks. But I knew you would never forgive me if I took you then. You would have seen it as an extension of Ramsay’s violence: like father, like son. _

_And so I forced myself to stay away from you._

_The times that you thought me cold and distant, those were the times that I wanted you the most. I suspect you know that now. And though you now say you enjoy it when I bend you over whatever surface is near, you would not have enjoyed it then, when you were still healing. When terror still lingered so close to the edges of your consciousness._

_You were never aware of it, but you had nightmares every night. I would come upstairs from the baths after trying to leech away the incessant stirring you caused in my blood, and I would stand in the door and watch you fight off Ramsay in your sleep. I never allowed myself to approach – your whimpers of fear and pain were far too appealing to me. But I would often talk to you from the doorway, and that seemed to calm you. But then you always did like the sound of my voice._

_Do you remember the day you visited me in my council chambers and scolded me for avoiding you? You told me you were made of sterner things than I thought. When I peered down at you after my bath that night, you were sleeping peacefully. There were no more nightmares after that._

_You are wondering why I am remembering such things. Stannis will be here soon. The mind of a soldier on the eve of battle is a frightening thing. Some of the men drink. Some walk the ramparts. Some fuck._

_Me? I remember. I remember what truly matters._

_But enough of this nonsense. No more letters until after the battle. There is too great a risk of Stannis’s men shooting down the ravens now._

_R_


	24. Chapter 24

Tears came to Meryll’s eyes as she finished reading Roose’s letter for the second time. It was probably as close as he would ever come to an outpouring of affection, and she savoured every word of it.

A purring Ser Barri jumped in Meryll’s lap and circled three times before settling in. She scratched him under the chin and thought maybe she would read the letter just one last time. Ser Barri seemed affronted when she turned her attention back to the letter and stood to ram his head into the parchment. The kitten had been desperate for attention ever since Roose had left. It made Meryll wonder if Roose had been secretly spoiling Ser Barri when no one was looking.

Giving up, Meryll rolled the parchment back up and tucked it into her skirts. Ser Barri gave a meow of protest when she picked him up and set him on the floor, but she had work to do.

Meryll left the east tower and ran up to the rookery to write a letter to Lord Frey.

_Dear Grandfather,_

_I’m sorry I didn’t write you sooner. Lord Bolton keeps a very close eye on me and it’s difficult to do anything without him noticing. Now that he has left the keep, I’m free to do as I wish._

_I’ve received word that Elmar was lost in the storm in the march to Winterfell – you may have already heard this from Lord Aenys. These northern winters are cruel and deadly. I don’t know why anyone chooses to live north of the neck._

_The snow also affects Stannis Baratheon and his march on Winterfell. He had been snowed in at Crofter’s Village for several days before he sacrificed his own daughter to the Red Woman’s god. She was burnt at the stake – absolutely disgusting. Many of his men deserted and the Red Woman has fled. The Lady Selyse took her own life afterward and who can blame her. The Bolton army now outnumbers Stannis’s by a great amount but Stannis marches on anyway. This god of his sends him straight to his death. The battle should begin in a matter of days. I’ll write more soon._

_Give my love to the girls,_

_Meryll_

Meryll gave the letter to Maester Tybald and made her way to the Great Hall. As she neared the doors, she realized she really didn’t have it in her to sit through more of the bickering between Ladies Jonelle, Eddara and Barbrey. Meryll pulled aside a servant and asked for her midday meal to be served in the council chamber.

The council chamber was blessedly quiet. Meryll sat in Roose’s chair at the map table and pulled out his letter once again. After reading all her favourite bits, she went back to the paragraph where Roose wrote about Stannis’s army.

Scattered on the map table were miniature flayed man figurines that Roose used to represent his army. There were big ones and small ones, which Meryll assumed represented different numbers of men. She put some of the figurines on top of Crofter’s Village, and others on Winterfell.

The door to the council chamber opened and Jorran walked in carrying a tray of food. “Avoiding our guests?” he asked, setting the tray down on the council table.

Meryll peered up at Jorran and noted his unshaven face and dark circles under his eyes. “Gods, Jorran, have you slept at all?” she chided him. Jorran had the decency to look somewhat abashed but mostly appeared pleased with himself.

“Not really.”

“You know Lady Azura is promised to another?” she asked.

“That’s part of the fun, Kitten.”

“Of course.”

Jorran pulled another chair up to the map table and took a seat. “What are you doing?”

Meryll looked at the letter again. “I’m trying to plot out the battle with the information Roose sent me.”

Jorran raised his eyebrows. “So Boltons are fighting Boltons?” he said, indicating the flayed man figurines. “The other houses are in the drawer.”

“Oh.” Meryll opened the drawer and pulled out suns for House Karstark, mermen for House Manderly, twin towers for House Frey, and flaming hearts for House Baratheon of Dragonstone.

“The big ones represent 500 men, and the smaller ones are used for 100 men,” Jorran explained. “Let me see the letter.”

Meryll handed it over, and Jorran quickly scanned the contents. “Seven hells, Kitten. Is this Roose’s idea of a love letter? This is absolutely terrifying.” He reached over to pinch Meryll’s cheek, and lowered his voice to the point of ridiculousness. “You’re sooo cute when you’re close to death and covered in the blood and guts of my son,” he said, somehow managing to keep a straight face.

Meryll studiously ignored Jorran and started placing the figurines on the map. She set the Freys, Manderleys and Boltons at Winterfell. “What direction will Stannis attack from?”

“Likely west,” Jorran said, placing the flaming hearts west of the Winterfell. Meryll took the suns representing the Karstarks and used them to bookend Stannis’s army.

Meryll stood and stared at the map, feeling like she should be remembering something.

“What is it, Kitten?” Jorran asked and stood beside Meryll.

“The sun is moving east…” she said, touching the figurines representing House Karstark. “My grandfather wrote me a letter a month ago mentioning that I might have been happier married to a Karstark, and then a bunch of nonsense about the sun rising in the west and moving east. I thought grandfather must have been finally going senile. But now I think he was trying to tell me something.”

“Do you still have the letter?” Jorran asked.

“No, I burned it.”

Jorran raised an eyebrow.

“You saw what happened when Roose read the other letter,” Meryll said defensively.

“Fair enough,” Jorran said. “What can you remember?”

Meryll tried to recall the letter. “It was odd that he mentioned marrying me to a Karstark. Perhaps he was questioning the alliance with House Bolton and thinking he should have allied with House Karstark instead?”

“And the sun?”

“Stannis was in Deepwood Motte at the time that Lord Arnolf declared for him. Deepwood Motte lies to the west of Winterfell and the Dreadfort. Arnolf rose to power under Stannis’s rule,” Meryll reasoned.

“The sun rises in the west and moves east,” Jorran murmured.

“Does the east represent House Bolton? Meaning Lord Arnolf would return his loyalties to House Bolton at some point?” Meryll wondered.

“Or just that he would march east on Winterfell? Your grandfather isn’t very good at sending coded messages,” Jorran remarked.

“Tell me about it.”

“What else did the letter say?” Jorran pressed her.

Meryll tried to picture the letter again. “Something about returning to the west. He said the sun would return to the west when the time was right.”

“I don’t get it.”

“I think he was saying that House Karstark would turn their banners back to Stannis’s colours when the time was right,” Meryll said. Alarmed, she turned to Jorran. “It’s a double betrayal. Lord Arnolf isn’t going to change his banners to Bolton colours at Winterfell as he and Roose agreed. He’ll fight for Stannis.”

Jorran considered the idea. “You can’t be sure he’ll betray Roose.”

“I can’t be sure that he _won’t_ betray Roose either,” Meryll argued. “Jorran, without the rearguard on his side, Roose is better to stay in the keep and wait out the siege. _And,_ the Karstark army makes up Stannis’s front line as well as the rearguard. The Bolton cavalry will ride out of the gates thinking the front line is on their side.”

“We’ll send a raven.”

“We can’t!” Meryll was insistent. “Roose said not to send any more ravens – there is too great of a risk of them being shot down by Stannis’s men. We cannot take the chance.”

“I will go,” Jorran said.

Meryll looked back to the map. “Will you make it in time? Stannis has already left Crofter’s Village. We’ll both go. We’ll take the 50 archers and 100 cavalry. Are there enough horses?”

Jorran frowned. “You’re not coming. Roose will have my head.”

“You know you cannot stop me. Will you put me in the dungeon?” Meryll challenged.

“That’s not a bad idea,” Jorran said, grimacing. “Gods dammit, Kitten!” he swore, pacing. “Fine. But you’ll not get close to the fighting.”

“Just within a bow’s shot range. That’s all I ask.”

Jorran swore again, but stopped pacing. “I will ready the men and check how many horses are left. You go speak to Galwin and Barbrey.”

Shortly after, Meryll was arguing with Galwin.

“Lady Bolton, you can hunt along route to feed a small contingent of men but not 150. You won’t find enough to feed all of them,” Galwin explained.

Meryll had never travelled with an army before, but she knew supply wagons would slow them down. “Can we keep the rations light? It’s only 3 nights.”

“Three nights, and then you expect them to fight afterward. You are better off arriving a bit late but having well-conditioned, well-rested and well-fed men. But I will keep the supplies as light as possible, Lady Bolton.”

Meryll thanked Galwin and somewhat reluctantly went to find Lady Barbrey.

“Those Karstarks are treasonous whores!” Barbrey exclaimed after Meryll explained. “Damn that Arnolf. I told Roose he couldn’t trust a Karstark.”

Meryll swallowed her pride and told Barbrey to take command of the Dreadfort. “And be nice to Lady Jonelle and Lady Eddara.”

“Fine,” Barbrey said. Her lack of argument made Meryll think that Barbrey was just as worried about Roose as Meryll was.

Meryll and Jorran left with their small force of archers and cavalry not long after. There weren’t enough horses so some of the men rode double. Preparations had been hasty, and when they camped that night, the conditions were rough. Rations were slim, there were more men to a tent than what was comfortable, and even the bedding had been reduced to a bare minimum.

If Meryll had her way, they would have marched through the night but Jorran reminded her that they’d be useless in battle without sleep. She paced her commanders tent, unable to rest.

“It’s going to be fine, Kitten,” Jorran said and convinced her to sleep. Meryll slept fitfully, and when she woke, she found Jorran on watch duty outside her tent.

Meryll glared at Jorran. “Why are you taking night shifts?”

“You know I don’t ask my men to do anything I’m not willing to do.”

“That’s very noble of you, Jorran, but your men haven’t lost a fortnight of sleep to Lady Azura,” Meryll said, giving him a pointed look. “Tomorrow, you’ll sleep through the night. That’s an order.”

“As you wish, Roose.”

* * *

“Jorran, I’m scared.”

It was the second night of the march to Winterfell, and Jorran and Meryll were sitting on the ground near the fire.

“Kitten, everyone is scared before a battle. If you’re not scared, then you’re stupid.”

“I’m mean I’m scared for Roose,” she said. “I don’t understand how women are supposed to stay at home and go on with life when their husbands march off to war. It’s unbearably cruel. Men don’t ever have to worry about their wives like that.”

Jorran gave her a reproachful look. “No? Ever heard of childbirth? How do you think a husband feels when he is locked out of the birthing room, waiting to find out if his wife and baby survived?”

Meryll scoffed. “As if anyone could keep Roose out of the birthing room.”

“It’s about as likely as you staying home while Roose marches off to war.”

* * *

On the third day, they heard the battle before they could see it. Halting the troops, Meryll and Jorran rode alone to the peak of the hills looking down on Winterfell from the north. The Bolton forces had left the safety of the keep and were fighting Stannis’s men in the field. Stannis’s front line of Karstarks was engaged in battle with the Bolton men, and the Karstark men in the rearguard still carried Stannis’s banners.

“We can pick off the rearguard with the archers,” Jorran said. He gave the signal for the rest of the men to join them.

Meryll was squinting down at Stannis’s front lines. “Jorran. That’s Roose,” she said, instantly recognizing his spare and fluid movements even at a great distance. “Look how the Karstark men are moving to separate Roose from his guard.”

There was a Bolton man moving with a whirlwind of blades keeping the Karstarks away from Roose. “Steelshanks,” Jorran said, pointing.

“We must get closer,” Meryll said.

“You can’t use the archers, Meryll. The fighting is too close and there’s too great of a risk of friendly fire.”

Meryll pulled her bow out. “ _I_ won’t hit any of our men. The rest of the archers can stay here. You take the cavalry to engage the rearguard.”

Jorran assigned ten of the men to act as Meryll’s personal guard, shaking his head all the while. “Roose will kill me.”

“If he kills you, it will mean he isn’t dead,” Meryll pointed out.

Jorran handed the signal horn to Gale, the newly appointed captain of Meryll’s ad hoc guard. “No closer than 100 yards. The second any of Stannis’s men move to engage, blow the horn and get back up the hill,” he told Gale. Jorran turned to Meryll. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

“Who me?” Meryll called over her shoulder, already making her way down the hill toward the battle lines. Her guard hurried to keep up.

Roose’s personal guard was fully engaged in keeping the Karstark and Baratheon men away from him, but the route back to the keep had been effectively blocked. Steelshanks fought furiously and cut down every man that came after him. Soon the Karstarks approached him three men at a time.

Gale turned to Meryll. “This is a battle to take Lord Bolton. It’s their only objective.”

“I know,” Meryll said grimly. “He should have never left the keep. Stannis knows he cannot win a battle of numbers, but if he takes Roose’s head, all the north will bend the knee. And they will be _loyal_.”

“Not House Bolton,” Gale said firmly.

“Stannis will put House Bolton to the sword. Every last one of us,” Meryll said.

Steelshanks was now moving in a flurry of blades against five men, but it appeared he had finally met his match. Meryll swore as she saw him fall. The Karstark men quickly took advantage of the gap in defenses and circled Roose.

“We must get closer,” Meryll said, breaking away from her guard. “We’re still out of range.”

Gale chased after her. “Lady Bolton, we’ll be detected if we get much closer.”

“I don’t need much time. We can retreat right after.”

Gale grabbed her arm. “But Jorran said—“

Meryll whirled around, ripping her arm out of Gale’s grasp. “Who is your commander here?”

Gale flinched at the fury in her eyes and fell to his knees. “My apologies, Lady Bolton.” Meryll pulled him to his feet and dragged him down the hill. The battle field was pure chaos – no one noticed the small group of soldiers descending the hill.

Three of the Karstark men were circling Roose. What was left of his guard was falling. More Bolton men poured out of the keep gates to protect their lord but Meryll wasn’t sure they would be fast enough. Roose was tiring. A brutal blow of his sword dispatched one of the Karstark men, but the other two moved in closer, one with a great sword, the other with a warhammer.  

Meryll was still almost a hundred yards away when she watched as the warhammer struck Roose high in the chest and he fell to his knees. She raised her bow and notched an arrow as Roose’s attackers rushed in to finish him.

She took aim and could hear Gale yelling at her. It was too close, he was saying; she’d hit Roose. She loosed the arrow anyway. The roar of the battle seemed to disappear as she released the arrow. And then the man with the warhammer fell.

Meryll thought Roose glanced up in her direction at that moment, but she couldn’t be sure. She shot a second arrow, hitting the second attacker. The arrow didn’t penetrate his armor and he only staggered, but it allowed just enough time for Roose to get to his feet. He swung his sword high and took the man’s head.

The Bolton men from the keep cut their way through the Karstarks and surrounded their lord once again.

Meryll’s arrows had not gone unnoticed by Stannis’s commanders, and a small contingent of men was rushing toward her and her guard. She lifted her bow once more, but Gale grabbed her and pulled her back up the hill. “I’m sorry, Lady Bolton, but we must retreat.” He blew the horn and they ascended the hill back to the archers, who covered their retreat with a volley of arrows.

Glancing back over her shoulder, Meryll was relieved to see Roose and his guard retreating back toward the keep, with more and more Bolton men pouring out of the gates to join the battle.

She could see some of the enemy soldiers surrendering – likely Northern deserters from Ramsay’s sack on Winterfell. Did they really think they would be shown mercy by the Boltons? How quick they changed their colours to those of the winning side.

Stannis’s army was being slaughtered. They were far outnumbered by Roose’s men. Meryll sent the archers into the field to start gathering prisoners and tend to the Bolton wounded.

Jorran made his way up the hill to Meryll, with a wounded man in tow. Jorran kicked the man’s knees out and he collapsed at Meryll’s feet. She reached down to remove his helm.

“Arnolf Karstark,” Jorran said.

“What did Stannis promise you, Lord Arnolf?” Meryll asked. “Winterfell?”

“All of the North,” Arnolf said. He was a prideful man and would not beg for mercy. Not yet. He started to pull himself to his feet but Jorran kicked him again, and Arnolf fell to his knees.

”Lord Bolton will enjoy flaying every inch of skin from your body,” Meryll said. “And I will listen to you scream.”

“The Starks outlawed flaying,” Arnolf was stupid enough to say.

“The Starks are gone,” Jorran said, backhanding him and leaving him unconscious in the snow. Jorran kicked him again for good measure.

“Put your helm back on, Meryll,” Jorran said, looking up. “The fewer people who know you’re here, the better.”

Meryll and Jorran made their way down to the field. Meryll helped bandage the wounded and Jorran went to find the commanding officers.

He returned a short time later with the news that Aenys Frey had fallen in battle, leaving Ser Hosteen to command the vanguard. “Also,” Jorran continued, “Stannis is dead. But he was found a ways from the battle field and no one knows who killed him. And, Roose has summoned me. I’m to bring the archer that saved his life. Apparently, he’s offered a lordship as reward.”

Meryll laughed. “I can’t wait to be a Lord.”

Meryll left her helm on as she and Jorran entered the keep. Ser Hosteen escorted them into what appeared to be Winterfell’s audience chambers.

Roose sat in the high seat, pale and slumped over. His armor had been removed and Meryll could see he was bandaged under his tunic. He was flanked by Maester Henly and several other commanders.

Meryll looked at Jorran.

“We request a private audience,” Jorran said to Roose.

Roose looked ready to argue but it seemed almost as if he hadn’t the energy. He dismissed everyone but Maester Henly and the hall emptied. Meryll approached the high seat and kneeled.

“Remove your helm, soldier,” Roose commanded. Meryll pulled her helm off, letting her hair fall around her face.

Roose struggled to his feet, swearing. Maester Henly moved to help him but Roose waved him away. Roose was furious. “I should beat you,” he hissed at Meryll, eyes flashing with anger.

Meryll met his eyes in challenge. “And I would welcome every blow and savour every mark, because each one would be proof that you are still alive.”

Roose seemed at a loss for words.

“I knew Arnolf would betray you,” she continued.

“How?”

Meryll told him about the letter and watched as Roose became more and more livid. “And you never thought to share this letter with me?” he asked.

“I thought it was just the ravings of an old man,” Meryll said.

“It truly did sound nonsensical,” Jorran said.

Roose was not to be placated. “Is that your flaying arm?” Meryll asked, pointing to his bandaged shoulder.

“Yes,” Roose said stiffly. “Why?”

“My men took Lord Arnolf prisoner.”

The news seemed to calm Roose somewhat, and he sat down again. Meryll turned to Maester Henly and Jorran. “Leave us,” she said. The two men left at her order.

“About that lordship,” Meryll began.

“I’m not making you a lord,” Roose said, glowering.

“I was thinking of Jorran, actually.”

“I’ll consider it,” Roose said. “I will need more bannermen I can trust.” Roose stood. “Speaking of my bannermen, I want to meet with them in the council chamber.”

“Sit.”

Roose raised an eyebrow at the command from Meryll.

“I will summon your bannermen and we will meet here,” she said. Roose narrowed his eyes and looked ready to challenge her, but she glared at him. It was a glare that she had learned from Roose, in fact. The corner of his mouth twitched.

Roose sat.


	25. Chapter 25

Meryll took her seat beside Roose at the council table that had been dragged into the audience hall at her orders. She glanced at Roose, whose condition certainly wasn’t improving over time. He glared at her, daring her to comment. She said nothing – he could have his pride. She hid a smile and only felt a little bit guilty that she was looking forward to not having to watch him pace back and forth through the entire meeting.

Roose’s bannermen and allies, or in some cases, house representatives, sat around the table: Ser Hosteen Frey, Ser Beron of House Dustin, Lords Roger and Rickard Ryswell, Lord Wylis Manderly, Lord Brandon Tallhart, and Ser Kyle of House Cerwyn. Three maesters also sat at the table: Maester Henly, as well as Maester Rhodry of House Cerwyn and Maester Medrick of House Hornwood. If any of them were surprised to see Meryll in Winterfell, none of them mentioned it.

“Ser Hosteen, your report,” Roose requested.

Uncle Hosteen was shaped like a square – as wide as he was tall, but it was all muscle. He was a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield, but not as seasoned of a commander as Uncle Aenys had been. Meryll could sense Roose’s impatience as Hosteen listed the casualties from each of the forces. Less than 1,200 men had been lost from Roose’s combined forces, but the majority of those were Frey men, and understandably, Hosteen was fixated on his own losses.

“. . . and two hundred some Northern men have surrendered and are being held prisoner,” Hosteen was saying. Roose sat up with new interest. “They are mostly men from House Cerwyn, House Tallhart and House Mormont,” Hosteen continued. “Deserters from Ramsay’s sack of Winterfell. What would you like done with them, my lord?”

Roose glanced at Meryll. Was he expecting a fight from her? Did he think her _delicate sensibilities,_ as Barbrey called them, would be upset by his decision?

“Put them to the sword,” Meryll said, effectively ending Roose’s hesitation.

“These are _Northern_ men, Lady Bolton,” Ser Kyle said in protest. “Northern men who have surrendered to us.”

Meryll paused, giving Roose a chance to speak if he wanted to, but he raised an eyebrow at her, indicating that she had started this, and she could finish it.

“They are traitors,” Meryll said flatly. “They had the chance to surrender when Lord Bolton was appointed Warden of the North.”

“Lady Bolton,” Lord Brandon said, “they would have been surrendering to Ramsay. No one can blame those men for not trusting that monster.”

“They could have deserted and gone home,” Meryll argued. “Instead, they joined Stannis Baratheon. By that act, not only are they traitors to Lord Bolton, but also traitors to their own liege lords.”

“They will be put to the sword,” Roose said, his tone final. “Has anyone useful been taken prisoner?”

“Lord Robett Glover,” Ser Hosteen said. Roose’s eyes narrowed. Lord Robett was the son and heir of Galbart Glover, Master of Deepwood Motte.

“He will be put to the sword as well,” Roose said. Meryll pursed her lips but didn’t challenge Roose.

Roose sighed. “Your thoughts, Lady Bolton? Obviously, you disagree.”

“Killing Lord Robett will effectively be a declaration of war against House Glover,” she began.

“Lord Galbart started the war when he declared for Stannis,” Roose pointed out.

“All the mountain clans are sworn to House Glover and they are spread all over the northwest. We could be fighting them for years,” Meryll argued. “Can we not negotiate some sort of exchange?”

“Lord Robett has a young son that could be taken as a ward,” Ser Beron offered.

“Larence Snow, the bastard son of the late Lord Halys Hornwood is currently being fostered with Lord Galbart. House Hornwood currently has no heir,” Maester Medrick added. “Surely Larence and Lord Robett’s son would be an acceptable exchange for releasing Lord Robett.”

“You mean in addition to not completely obliterating House Glover?” Roose said dryly.

“House Manderly currently holds Hornwood,” Lord Wylis said.

Roose glared. “Yes, and House Manderly will withdraw its forces from Hornwood once an heir has been appointed, as your father and I agreed.” Lord Wylis seemed to shrink a bit under Roose’s withering glare.

“Maester Henly, you will craft a letter of terms to Lord Galbart for me to sign,” Roose said. Henly nodded.

“Lord Arnolf Karstark has also been taken captive,” Ser Hosteen said.

“He dies.” Roose said. “Any objection, Lady Bolton?”

“None whatsoever.”

"No one knows who killed Stannis?" Ser Beron asked.

Roose shrugged. "Probably one of his own men. Anything else?"

“Lord Bolton, if I may speak,” Maester Medrick began. Roose nodded for him to continue. “There is the matter of the succession of House Karstark. The Lannisters killed Lord Harrion after Arnolf declared for Stannis. The next in line is Harrion’s unmarried daughter, Alys.”

Ser Beron spoke up. “Lord Bolton, your young namesake, Lord Roose Ryswell, is not yet married.”

Roose looked at Roger.

“I will speak to my father,” Roger offered.

“We have a shortage of young lords in the North, thanks to Robb’s war,” Roose said. “It will take time to rebuild.”

“There are rumors that Daenerys Targaryen plans to attack Kings Landing,” Lord Wylis said. “We may not have time to rebuild before we are at war again.”

“We cannot get involved,” Roose said. “The North will swear fealty to whoever ends up on that godsdamned Iron Throne. We cannot afford any more years of war.”

“No desire to be King in the North? To see the return of the Red King of House Bolton?” Lord Wylis asked, somewhat in jest.

“Perhaps our descendants will take up the fight for Northern independence,” Roose said. “But we will have no descendants left if we get tied up in another war. We must look to the future.”

Meryll waited for someone to argue, but as she looked around the table, all she saw was begrudging respect. These men had all lost much while fighting for Robb’s cause.

“If there is nothing else, you are all dismissed,” Roose said.

The bannermen cleared out, and Roose slowly stood. “Maester Henly, please escort Lady Bolton to my chambers.”

“I will be up shortly,” Roose said before Meryll could protest.

Meryll followed Maester Henly through the Great Keep to Roose’s chambers.

“How badly is he injured, Maester Henly?” she asked as they walked.

“Nothing to fret about, my lady,” he answered. “Chainmail is not very good protection against blunt force attacks, I’m afraid. There are no broken bones but Lord Bolton will not be moving very quickly for a few days yet. I believe it is mostly his pride that is injured.”

“I had always heard that my husband was a cautious commander in battle. Why did he leave the keep?” Meryll asked.

“Nothing went according to plan, my lady,” the maester explained. “First the Karstark double cross, and then Lord Aenys fell, leaving Ser Hosteen in command on the field. Lord Bolton wasn’t confident in Ser Hosteen’s abilities and felt he needed to lead the men himself. And forgive me for saying this, but I daresay your husband has never had so much to lose in a battle before now.”

“Yes, the weight of leadership lies heavy on his shoulders,” Meryll agreed.

“I was referring to you and any future heirs, my lady.”

Maester Henly led Meryll down a long corridor and opened the door at the far end. Meryll entered, and was surprised by how warm the room was.

“These were once Lady Catelyn’s chambers. Being from the Riverlands, like you, she was used to a warmer climate.” Maester Henly explained. “This part of the keep was built directly over a hot spring and these are the warmest rooms in the keep. Lord Bolton thought they would be well-suited for you.”

Maester Henly took his leave, promising to have supper sent up. Meryll was exhausted. Roose’s chambers consisted of a large sitting room with dining table and upholstered chairs, as well as a separate bedchamber with a ladies dressing table and mirror as well as a wardrobe in addition to the large feather bed. Meryll peeked into the wardrobe and was thrilled to see that a few of Lady Catelyn’s garments still hung inside. After stripping off her leathers, Meryll happily slipped into a silk dressing gown and collapsed on the bed.

She awoke later to sounds in the other room. Emerging sleepily from the bedchamber, Meryll found Roose seated at the table, eating supper.

“Come join me,” Roose said, nodding to the chair across from him. Meryll knelt by his chair instead.

“Sit in the chair, Meryll,” Roose said stiffly. She looked up to see a troubled look in his eyes. “Had I known what Ramsay had done to you, I never would have had you kneel at my feet like that,” he said quietly.

Meryll leaned into Roose’s side. “I don’t mind. You are nothing like Ramsay. You make me feel cherished. Don’t you like it when I kneel for you?”

Roose sighed and brushed his knuckles over her cheek. “Very much,” he admitted. He fed her the bits from his plate that he knew she would enjoy the most. They ate in companionable silence, each too exhausted to bother with conversation.

Meryll was dozing off again when Roose nudged her. “Back to bed with you,” he said. She stood and made it only two steps toward the bedchamber door before Roose came up from behind and wrapped his arms tightly around her.

He clearly hadn’t shaved since leaving the Dreadfort and his whiskers were scratchy against Meryll’s skin when he kissed her neck. She let her head fall back against his shoulder as his hands worked to undo the belt of her dressing gown. Her gown fell open, and his hands trailed over her stomach, rough on her skin. He slid his hands up to cup her breasts, taking measure. His hands stilled.

“When was your last moon blood?” he asked.

Meryll’s breath caught. Could he really tell just by touching her? “It was due seven days ago, but it hasn’t come.” she said, turning in his arms to face him.

“You knew?” His voice was a harsh whisper.

Meryll nodded.

“You were on the battlefield today knowing my child was inside you?”

Meryll nodded again, willing him not to lose his temper. She watched as realization sunk in, and his eyes softened. Roose knelt in front of her, arms pulling her close so he could rest his cheek against her belly. “My child is inside you?” he repeated, a trace of boyish wonder in his voice.

She laughed softly, fingers threading through his hair. “Yes, Roose. And you cannot beat me anymore. Not until after the babe is born.”

Meryll pulled him back to his feet and kissed him. She loosened the ties at the neck of his tunic but he pushed her hands down and took control of the kiss and her body, maneuvering her until she backed into the table. She perched on the edge and reached down to untie the laces of his breeches while he was occupied with tasting her lips. His tongue took possession of her mouth and then he pulled back, smiling slightly as she leaned in for more.  

Roose groaned when she took his cock in hand and wrapped her legs around him, pulling him close and guiding him into her wet heat. He stayed still for a long moment, buried inside her, forehead resting against hers as she stroked his neck and back. When he finally moved, he thrusted leisurely and almost gently.

Meryll tugged on his hair and his eyes popped open. “You won’t hurt anything,” she said, rocking her hips forward against him. “ _Fuck_ me. I don’t want you to be _nice_ or _gentle._ ”

Maybe he had needed permission, but more likely, her words spurred him on. He pushed her back until she was reclined on her elbows, and then took a nipple in his mouth. His tongue pushed her nipple against his teeth, and the pleasure-pain shot straight to her core, causing her to buck her hips against him once again. He began to thrust in earnest then, setting a hard and fast rhythm that left her panting for release.   

Roose reached down and slid his hand through her wetness, sending Meryll closer to the edge. Her body tensed, insides coiling tighter and tighter until she hovered on the precipice, just waiting for that little…bit…more. His fingers firmly stroked over her engorged bud, sending her over the edge. Her back arched in a rigid bow as she cried out her pleasure. Her insides clenched and spasmed around him, ripping away what was left of his control and he spilled his seed inside her.

They didn’t speak until they were lying together in bed. Roose was trailing his fingers over Meryll's breasts and watching her nipples stiffen into hard peaks. "How did you know my moon blood was late?" she asked.

"Your body is  _mine_  and I notice when it changes," Roose said, palming her breast. "Your breasts are fuller and more sensitive," he continued, squeezing until she whimpered softly. "And there is a fierceness in you that I haven't seen before," he said with an amused smile. "I can tell you're going to be more insolent than ever so I’m sending you back to the Dreadfort tomorrow,” he said, "where you'll be safe."

“You will do no such thing,” she said, pulling his hand down to rest on her belly. “We’re a family now, and we won’t be apart any longer.”

  


	26. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All things must come to an end eventually. Thank you so much for reading my fumbling first attempt at fan fiction! What fun this has been!
> 
> Big thanks to Jennilynn411 and BlueEyesBlueSkies for all their encouragement along the way! I love all three of our Rooses so much. (And how exciting is it to have multiple Rooses??)

_10 moons later_

Meryll stood on the ramparts, enjoying the chill of the northern air after so many days spent in bed. Roose had forbidden her to do anything but rest but she had slipped her guard that morning.

Jorran, or _Lord_ Jorran, Castellan of the Dreadfort, had just arrived in Winterfell to meet the future Lord of the Dreadfort. He had brought along his new ward, Gawen Glover, a slightly roly-poly seven-year-old boy. Jorran was leading Gawen around the yard on a pony, and the boy’s affection for Jorran was apparent. Gawen wasn’t alone on that account. Along the edges of the yard, a gathering of maidens had formed, including Rhianna and Rina Ryswell as well as Meryll’s sister, Marissa.

Marissa had arrived at the Dreadfort several moons earlier. Lord Frey had written to Roose suggesting that his grandson, Olyvar Frey, could be married to Lady Jonelle of House Cerwyn. Roose had sent back a letter declining the offer and hinting that House Frey had seemed awfully friendly with Arnolf Karstark. Roose also suggested that sending Marissa to Winterfell would help solidify the alliance between House Bolton and House Frey.

Roose came up beside Meryll on the ramparts and wrapped a cloak around her shoulders. “You’re making my household guard look completely incompetent,” he said, leaning casually against the rail. “Gale nearly wet himself when he realized you were no longer in your chambers.”

Meryll turned to observe the amused look on her husband’s face. “Roose, what did you do to him?”

“I’ve put him in charge of keeping watch over Ruthie for the rest of her stay,” Roose said with a smirk. Roger’s youngest daughter, Ruth, was a holy terror, and had kept all the guards on their feet since her arrival. Roose had actually paled a bit when Ruth announced at supper the night before that she wanted to be just like Meryll when she grew up.

Meryll watched with interest as Jorran helped Gawen off his pony and then walked over to the girls. Jorran leaned in close to Marissa and whispered something in her ear. Marissa blushed pink and then pulled back and slapped him across the face. Jorran was speechless as Marissa stormed away, the rest of the girls close behind.

“Another Bolton man comes undone,” Meryll said, laughing. In a flash, Roose had her turned around and pinned against the rail.

“What do you mean, _another_ Bolton man?” he asked, tone quietly menacing. “You Frey girls need to be beaten more often.”

“I could have sworn I saw a tear in your eye when Maester Tybald put Royce in your arms for the first time,” Meryll teased.

“You were mistaken.”

Meryll placed her palms on Roose’s chest but didn’t push him away. “I saw Maester Tybald this morning. He has given us permission to resume our _intimate activities,_ as he says,” she mentioned.

“Oh.” Roose said, taking Meryll by the arm and leading her back into the keep. “But did he say if I was permitted to beat you again?”

“I didn’t specifically ask about that.” And Meryll would put that off for a while yet. Roose had been keeping a tally of the things that Meryll had done over the last several months that deserved punishment, and she imagined the list was quite long by now.

When they reached their private chambers, Roose glanced at the servant girl sitting by Royce’s bassinet and waved her away with a flick of his hand. Meryll took a quick peek into the bassinet to ensure that the future Lord of House Bolton was still sleeping. Although, the way that Roose jumped up at every squawk, gurgle or sigh from the young heir, it seemed that baby Royce was the _current_ Lord of House Bolton.

Meryll and Roose left a trail of fur cloaks and clothing as they stripped their warm layers on the way to the bedchamber. Meryll knew it was only a matter of time before Royce would need to be fed again, and was quick to straddle Roose’s hips, eager to feel him buried deep inside her again. She lowered herself onto him but Roose gripped her hips to hold her still before she could ride toward her pleasure.

“Slowly,” he said. Meryll made a frustrated noise and Roose fought to hide the smile that was threatening to inch across his face. His touch was uncharacteristically gentle as he stroked his fingers over her engorged breasts, which she appreciated, since young Royce had already perfected the Bolton skill of nipple torture.

Releasing her hips, Roose traced his hands over her stomach, still soft and rounded, and then further down. He slid his fingers over her wet nub, glistening just above where his flesh was joined with hers.

Meryll moaned and matched the pace of her movements with the insistent stroking of his fingers, riding him hard as the sensations built in intensity. Her release slammed into her, a burst of overwhelming pleasure, shaking her from the inside and causing her to cry out hoarsely. She was dimly aware of Roose laughing and telling her she’d wake the baby, and then his hands gripped her tightly. He moved her up and down on his thick erection, hard and fast, sending more sensations zinging through her body. He groaned and she felt his seed pour into her.

Meryll collapsed on his chest and he held her tight. “Do you think it’s too soon to put another babe in your belly?” he asked once his breath was under control again.

She laughed. “I think so. But it’s good to practice.”   

Limbs still entangled, Roose managed to roll them both onto their sides, facing each other. He traced a finger gently down her cheek. There was a softness in his eyes that Meryll had been seeing more and more of since Royce had come along. It had disturbed her so much that she often acted the brat just to see a return of Roose’s more unyielding nature. He had been getting closer and closer to . . . _something._

And he had that look again. As if he wanted to say something.

“Meryll,” he started. And then frowned.

Meryll had a growing suspicion of what he was struggling with. She laid her fingers on his lips. “You don’t have to say it,” she said. “I already know.” She had very little desire to hear a declaration of love from Roose. It wouldn’t suit him, somehow.

“Already know what?” he asked, visibly annoyed. “I was just going to say that you are _mine._ ”

 _That_ was the Roose that she knew and loved.

“. . . and I am yours,” he finished, looking as surprised by his admission as Meryll was by hearing it.

She recovered quickly. “True,” she said, playfully.

Roose scowled, but the glint in his eyes didn’t match the twist of his mouth. “This is about as close to romantic poetry as you’re ever going to hear from me, and you’re being an insolent brat.”

Meryll’s smile widened. _Romantic poetry, indeed._

“True.”

“I’m _not_ playing your foolish little game.”

“F—“

But before Meryll could finish responding, Roose’s lips came crashing down on hers and he very quickly had her on her back, hands pinned above her head.

The piercing sound of Royce’s crying filled the air and they both sighed and pulled apart.

“I’ll get him,” Roose said, rolling off of Meryll.

Roose returned with the squalling, red-faced baby bundled in his arms and helped get the babe settled with Meryll to feed. Meryll was struck by the enigma of her husband. The hands that brutally flayed the skin from their enemies had found new gentleness when cradling their child. He had been surprisingly unfazed by her decision to nurse Royce herself. She would always cherish her memory of Roose telling Barbrey off for saying that ‘only commoners nurse their own babes’.  

Afterward, Roose was sitting at the table working when Meryll went into the sitting room to settle Royce back in his bassinet.

“Meryll, do you have any idea why House Ryswell sent us 200 pounds of potatoes?” Roose asked.

“I won them dicing,” she said, arranging warm furs around the babe. “What are you working on?”

“I’m updating the keep ledger book.”

Curiosity piqued, Meryll joined Roose at the table. “This is the keep ledger book?” she asked, feeling a little rush of excitement.

“Yes, why?”

“No reason,” Meryll said, swallowing a laugh. “Do you think you could read it to me?”

Roose narrowed his eyes. “Why on earth would you want me to do that?”

“Please?” she begged. Meryll couldn’t wait to write to Ami about this.

“Very well,” Roose said with an amused look, and pulled Meryll onto his lap.

“The third day of the tenth moon cycle. Fifty bushels of corn, thirty-six silver . . .”


End file.
